


sliding doors ii

by ont



Series: mockingbird [11]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adultery, Amicable Exes, Angst, Blended family, Canon Compliant, Complicated Louis/Harry Friendship, Divorce, Ex Shit, Family Drama, Future Fic, Kid Fic, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not-so-amicable Exes, Post-Divorce, Pregnant Louis, Stepdadding, Wedding, marital discord, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-25 19:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 116,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: Louis and Liam try for a baby; Harry and Zayn encounter obstacles in getting back together.





	1. Chapter 1

LONDON, JANUARY 23, 2012

It's only eleven when Harry sneaks into Louis’ hotel room, but he's already asleep, with the curtains drawn and his phone charging on the bedside table.

Harry kneels at his bedside and bats at the covers like a cat. Louis stirs without waking, so he lifts them up and crawls under, snuggling next to him.

“Wake up,” Harry sings, shaking his shoulder, “wake up, wake up —”

Louis lets out a loud groan of complaint and shrugs him off. “Nooo…”

Harry bites him on the bicep.

“Ow!”

“I wanna tell you something, so wake up. Please.”

“Alright, alright…” He shifts under the covers and turns to Harry, yawning. “Go on.”

Feeling very conspiratorial and cosmopolitan, Harry whispers, “I just had it off with Zayn.”

Even though they're swallowed in darkness, he can see Louis’ face light up. “No shit!”

“Yeah! Just now.”

Louis laughs and rubs at his eye. “Didn't stick around to cuddle, then?”

“Alright, not  _just_  now… we cuddled and talked for a bit, but we didn't want to get caught, so…”

Louis scoots over and offers Harry half his pillow. “Go on then, tell me everything.”

Harry lies down beside him on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He fumbles around for the right words — he's still sort of a giddy mess, floating, smiling without meaning to. “It was nice,” he says. “Like, tender, but fun… it was really nice.”

It all comes back to him in flashes — the curtains open, silvery moonlight spilling onto the bed. Zayn’s strong hands at his waist. The tentative way they kissed, afterward, and stared at each other. How the sheets felt under him as they moved. How it was so much quieter than he expected it to be, nearly silent, like a dream. Just soft sighs and little groans, and laughter. It didn't occur to them to put any music on. They didn't need it.

Zayn kissed his neck a lot, and sucked on his lips. They’re still tingling, raw to the touch.

Louis asks him, “You feel different?”

“Maybe a bit.”

He lowers his voice to a goofy degree, as if imitating Harry, and informs him, “You're a  _man_ , now.”

Harry laughs. “Really? I don't feel like one.”

“What was the vibe, was it normal? Or were you all serious and passionate?”

“Not serious. He was cute about it. We kept laughing, ‘cos we were bumping our heads and things… it took him ages to get the condom on, stuff like that.”

“You glad you waited?”

Harry considers this. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, and I'm glad it was with him.”

He glances over at Louis, who grins slyly, his teeth shining in the dark. “I'm happy for you, Styles,” he says.

Harry smiles back.

“So.” He props up his chin on his fist. “How’d it happen?”

“Well, he found me after the show… I think the three of you were already off getting a pint…”

“We were.”

“And we went, and, y’know, had a bit of a wander by the river. With the big moon out, and all that.”

“Romantic,” Louis says.

“And we were alone, and he sort of leaned in and goes…” Harry flushes in the cheeks like he's ten years old. “He was like, ‘I really want to know if being inside you feels as good as I think it would.’”

“My God,” Louis exclaims, “what a  _line_  —”

“The way he said it was sweet!”

“Go on, go on.”

“So I said, y’know, let's go find out.”

“Slutty,” Louis says with admiration.

Harry rolls over and looks up at him in the darkness. “I feel like I might’ve made a mistake,” he whispers. “I dunno. We’ve been talking so serious, and we’re so young… and like, it's so real now.”

“You gave him your  _virginity_.” Louis sticks his tongue out. “You let our very own Zayn do your cherry.”

“I know! I know… Ugh, I dunno.”

Louis lifts an eyebrow.

“I’m starting to overthink it, is all.”

“In what way?”

“I just don't want it to fuck up the band, or anything. I almost feel like we ought to cool it off for a while. I don't want to, but… I feel so crazy around him, it can’t be good, not with all this shit we’ve got going on. It’s too intense.”

Louis studies him carefully then, looking every inch the wise older brother. “Y’know, I think he'd marry you, honestly,” he says. “You should see him look at you.”

His heart quickens, going rabbity. “Christ,” he says. “That's so intense. Don't say that.”

Louis snuggles up against him. “You smell sweaty.”

“Well,” Harry says, a bit nonplussed, “what d’you expect?”

“You can sleep here if you want, stinky.”

“You just don't like sleeping alone.”

“Correct.”

“Alright,” Harry says, pretending like he's acquiescing, and rolls over to be spooned. He really likes the comfort of Louis’ little body wrapped around his. “I wonder if he's off telling Liam about it...”

Louis laughs. “He's definitely off telling Liam about it.”

“Then I wonder what he's saying.”

They're quiet for a while before Louis pipes up in a sleep-scratchy voice: “Well, you know what Simon an’ Ann Marie want… they want him paired off with that bird from Little Mix, Perrie with the pipes.”

Heat constricts Harry’s throat. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah.”

No, but he's mine, he wants to say. Even if now isn't the right time, even if the circumstances are terrible, and with us so young — he's mine, is that too much to ask?

Harry is so afraid that it is.

“That's stupid,” is all he dares to say out loud. “Zayn doesn't even like blondes.”

Louis burps on the back of his neck in response.

“ _Lou-_ is…”

He laughs. “Sorry! I ‘ad like four stouts!”

“Could you talk to him, though? Can you ask him what he’s thinking?”

“Sure, mate.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

 

CALABASAS, JULY 20, 2024

Liam doesn't remember how he met Young M.A. to start with, but he ended up producing something for her in 2023, and that led to a friendship, which led to her inviting him and Louis to her girlfriend’s baby shower, and then, a year later, to a album release kickback she has out in Inglewood.

Louis seems to fall in love with their baby right away — he’s at a good age, all chubby and smiley and wriggly — and spends a lot of the party entertaining him.

Liam doesn't think much of it at the time. But then in the car, Louis is quiet. It's an hour or two drive back, most of it along the coast, and the vacuum of their uncharacteristic silence grows until Liam wonders if he’s upset about something. He racks his brain, but he can't think of a single possibility, and anyway, Louis doesn't do the silent treatment.

So Liam tries to put a podcast on to fill the quiet, but Louis murmurs, “No, no, I’m tryin’ to think… Music?”

Liam obliges with some station that's playing 70s hits, like The Monkees and The Police and shit. He's zoned out staring at the road ahead of him when Louis says, “Hey.”

He says it sweet and soft, like when he wants something.

“Hey,” Liam says back, and snakes his tattooed hand over to lay it on Louis’ thigh, then squeezes him.

Louis lays his own hand over Liam’s. “Their baby was really cute.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, unsure of where this is going.

“Babies are nice. I forgot.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Near on a decade for both of us,” Louis says.

“Naww, not  _that_  long…”

“Well, getting there, anyway. Mims is nine soon.”

Liam finds himself surprised by this. “Shit, she is, isn't she?”

“Yeah. And it flew by, too.”

“Yeah, I feel that.”

“I miss it,” Louis murmurs. “My kids being little. Really like having a baby around. Makes the house more homey.”

They roll comfortably along for a few more minutes. Faster sports cars zip by them in the opposite direction. In his peripheral, Liam realizes Louis is looking at him. His hand is growing sweaty on Louis’ thigh from the trapped heat.

After a while, Louis clears his throat. “Liam.”

“Yeah?”

“Have I got worse at dropping hints, or something?”

Bemused, Liam turns off the highway, then, and heads east up into the hills toward their house. “Hints? Where was the hint?” He pauses to maneuver around a cyclist, and distractedly continues, “You thought their baby was cute, and you miss having a baby around —” It hits him like a sack of bricks, then. “Oh! Ohhh…!”

“Ahh, the eagle has landed.”

Dizzy with joyful excitement, Liam pulls up to a stop sign and plants his foot on the brake, looking over at Louis, who's looking at him with a great deal of fondness. “You want a baby?”

“Yeah.” Louis, smiling, reaches up and runs his fingers through Liam’s hair. “I really do.”

“You're serious?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, Payno, I’m just having an extremely cruel joke on you. ‘Course I'm serious!”

Liam laughs. “Well, you know you'll have to go through my standard application process… Background check, drug test. Valuable stuff, this.” He pats his lap. “Can't give it out to just anybody.”

Louis’ cheeky grin spreads lazily. “Doesn't being your fiancé count for anythin’?”

“Not much, sorry. But I do accept cash bribes.”

Louis sits up and leans in, and they kiss for a long time, interrupted only by someone pulling up behind them and laying on their horn.

“You should know I'm gonna fail that drug test,” Louis murmurs, slipping back off him. “Remember how me and Calvin went to Phish a couple weeks ago…”

“You can borrow some of my pee,” Liam stage whispers, and he laughs.

 

 

*

 

Liam is all funny and moonstruck for the rest of the evening, gazing at Louis as they go about their business, getting innocently handsy with him while they're making dinner (much to the chagrin of the kids, who are doing homework in the breakfast nook and shout their displeasure at having to witness this much affection).

Louis is pink-cheeked and pleased-looking, even though nothing has actually happened yet. They haven't even had the chance to get alone and talk properly about it, since the nanny begged off as soon as they got home. They will at bedtime. That's when they have all their important conversations.

 

*

 

At dinner, they keep exchanging secretive smiles. The kids don't notice; they chat away about their days at school, their voices bouncing off the walls of the cozy dining room.

When they're finishing up, Louis disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of red. “Want a glass, Payno?” he says, giving him a quick wink as he pours himself one.

“Mmm,” Liam says, holding his glass out. The light from the chandelier overhead glitters off the crystalline bulb in the stem. “Love one.”

“Daddy?” Sunday says. She’s sort of fidgety. “Grandmother called earlier.”

Louis’ hand stops pouring, and he sits.

“Called you?” Liam says.

“Yeah.”

“What’s she want?” He realizes there's an edge in his tone. “Sorry. What’d she say?”

“She asked about Thanksgiving,” Sunday says. “She wants to know if I'm coming to the Hamptons with them and Mum.”

“What? That's ages away.”

“I know, but they're making plans for the holidays already, she said.”

Liam guiltily wishes they could be out of earshot of everyone else for this. He got so used to dealing with Sunday on his own, and the chilly, emotionally remote nature of Cecilia and her family is sometimes embarrassing to him. He doesn't think Louis or his kids quite understand. And he often envies the friendly, collegial relationship Louis has with his own ex.

“Do you want to go?” he says.

Sunday shrugs, looking anxiously unhappy, like she's afraid to disappoint someone.

“You don't have to, honey,” he adds gently.

“Can  _we_  have Thanksgiving?” Mia says.

“Why?” Louis says, sipping his wine. “We’re not American, are we?”

“I've only ever lived in America,” Mia points out.

“We're English,” Louis says firmly. “And you were born in London.”

Amir, who's been observing all this in silence, says, “Dad says Thanksgiving celebrates genocide.”

“Amir, come on, you've got no idea what genocide means.”

“I know it's bad!”

“I agree it's not, like, a  _nice_ holiday, but it's an American one,” says Louis. “Which is why Sunday celebrates it, but we don't.”

“I want to,” Mia says. “It sounds fun. My friends all do it. I want to eat a giant turkey.”

“You don't even like turkey.”

“Well, maybe if you put stuff on it I would! I just don't like it when it's a sandwich.”

“Sunday,” Liam cuts in, “you really don't have to go up there if you don't want.”

“If we have it here, and then she doesn't have to go,” Mia says.

Liam gives her a smile, appreciating the impulse behind this offer. He drains half of his glass of wine and then sets it aside.

“I don't really want to,” Sunday finally says. “But won't Mum be upset?”

“Let me worry about that,” Liam says. “Don't you worry about that.”

“Soo… are we having Thanksgiving?” Amir says.

Louis puts his palm up and mouths something at him that Liam doesn't catch.

“Can I be excused?” Sunday says, slipping out of her chair.

“Sure,” Liam says. “You finish your homework?”

She nods and tucks a ringlet of hair behind her ear.

“Okay. G’night. Brush your teeth.”

Sunday disappears through the saloon doors in that light footed, ghostlike way of hers.

“Thanksgiving is lame,” Amir says, apropos of nothing.

“Don’t say everything is lame,” Louis half-heartedly admonishes him. “Use bigger words.”

“I said genocide!”

“Alright, fair, but genocide ain't exactly dinner table talk, love.”

Amir rolls his eyes.

 

*

 

Liam always takes calls from his ex-wife in the bathroom with the door closed, and talks quietly enough that Louis can't quite make out what he's saying. He isn't really concerned by this, but asked Liam why once out of curiosity, and Liam said he didn't want that toxicity to spread to their own marriage. He said that it was like how when you flushed the toilet without closing the lid, tiny poop particles you couldn't even see got on your toothbrush. Louis shuddered and considered the topic well closed.

Tonight he sits on the bed idly paging through a car magazine on his tablet. He’s propped up by a wall of pillows, with the white comforter pulled up to his waist. Louis loves their bedroom; it's smallish on purpose, smaller than all the kids’ rooms, full of plants and brightly lit. It always smells like those peppermint candles Liam likes, so it's like being inside of a fancy department store fitting room around Christmastime. Behind French doors on one side, they've got a maze of closet space — on the other, their vault-like marble bathroom.

They only moved in together the previous December; they were worried about rushing things, or uprooting the kids, but it eventually got to a point where trying to fit into each other’s schedules was ludicrously inconvenient, so for once they threw caution to the wind. The kids picked out the house, though. They went with the first one all three of them could agree on.

Liam comes out of the toilet furiously moisturizing his face. His hair is slicked back, still wet from his shower. Louis pulls the covers aside so he can come over and climb under them.

“What’d she say?” he says.

Liam heaves a sigh and presses a kiss to his cheek, smearing moisturizer on him. “I don't wanna talk about her, I wanna talk about having a baby.”

“Well, run me through it real quick before we do.”

Liam settles against the pillows and looks up at him with wan, dark eyes. “She doesn't get why Sunday feels uncomfortable around her parents. Who treat her like — I don't even know. They're fuckin’ weird.” He rubs at his brow, and Louis reaches down and strokes his damp hair. “They're so uptight and awful. I feel terrible for her. Sunday, I mean, although maybe Ceci too, for being raised by them. And her brother, Dick, he's such a good guy, but like, a total recluse — I don't think you ever met Dick —”

“I've met a dick or two in my life,” Louis jokes, and Liam chuckles.

“Anyway,” he says, “they always treated me like a second-class citizen, although it got better after a while, ‘cos I was on my best behavior with them, always super fucking nice no matter what little digs they threw at me. But we all knew Ceci was slumming with me.”

“Oh, Liam…”

“No, she was, it's okay. They're on another level, these people. Anyway, they always hated that we had Sunday without getting married first. Almost boycotted our wedding.” Liam lets out a long sigh. “And they treat our kid, y’know... They're superficially nice to her, but there's this coldness behind it. Which, I've talked to you about, is impossible for a kid to understand, and it just makes her feel, like, unwanted.”

Louis nods. “Right, yeah. Of course.”

“Once she called me crying from this country club in Rochester, ‘cos they left her behind with a group of their friends’ kids she didn't even know while they went out to brunch. She was like, five?”

“ _What_?”

“I know!” Liam says, getting a little bass in his voice, like he's holding back real anger.

“How can they be like that? She's such a sweet kid! Their own granddaughter?”

“They're not like us, Lou, these people. They're old money. We’re new money.”

“Can't be worth  _that_  much,” Louis says. “You're still paying Ceci alimony.”

“We talked about that, too,” Liam says. “I mean, she's been engaged to that producer for ages, and I asked when I was gonna stop having to cut her a check, which she didn't appreciate. But all the money belongs to her parents, it's bound up in trusts and family holdings. They threatened to cut her off over me, actually. So we worked it into our prenup that I’d provide for her if we got divorced.”

Louis slides down on the bed and cuddles up against him, splaying his fingers over Liam’s warm chest. Liam wraps an arm around him.

“I know you think I'm too protective of Sunday, sometimes,” Liam murmurs, “but she's sensitive, and this rubbish really gets to her…”

“Oh, no, absolutely. I wouldn't want me kids around them, are you joking? No, you know I back you all the way on this.”

“I just worry you only get my side of things, and I bias you against Ceci and them, and she already doesn't like you, and I worry she's putting shit in Sunday’s head about you and me the few times a month she takes her, and she'll turn her against me —”

“Liam,” Louis says in a soothing tone. “It wouldn't happen. That kid adores you. Alright?”

Liam strokes his back. “You're right,” he murmurs.

“Lemme take your mind off it.”

“I wanna talk about…” Liam presses a kiss to his hairline. “Us having a baby, that's what I want to talk about.”

Louis, wine-tipsy, shivers with pleased excitement. “Me too,” he says low in his throat.

“You really want to?”

“Yeah, it’s good timing, innit? I mean, we’ve talked about this before, and it was always like, we wanted the kids to be settled into living together first. But they are, and the band’s in an off period, you and me aren’t in a busy time with our projects… and the kids are old enough that it wouldn't be as much of an upheaval.”

“Mmm, very romantic,” Liam says, nuzzling him.

Louis laughs. “ _And_  I really wanna have your baby...”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

They roll over and start snogging. Liam fists Louis’ shirt in his hand, then starts sucking at his bottom lip, and Louis arches his back and makes a soft sound.

“I think we’re ready, absolutely,” Liam murmurs. “I really want that, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Been wanting it… just wasn't sure if you wanted more kids yet… you’re always talking about how we’ve got a full house, here.”

“But Zayn takes my kids off me three days of the week… three days of the week I'm just puttering around here without ‘em.”

“I know…”

“I want a baby with you,” Louis breathes against his throat, as Liam kisses his forehead and they roll their hips in eager unison. “Never thought I’d miss bein’ pregnant, but... I wanna have your baby, I’m so broody lately... and I keep picturing this sweet little baby with your eyes...”

“I'll get you pregnant tonight,” Liam promises huskily, then snogs him some more.

“You won't, lad,” he laughs, “I haven't even gone off my birth control yet —”

“Ah, I'll do it anyway.”

He sounds so gruff, so dead serious and intense about it that Louis’ guts twist in arousal like eels. He hooks a thumb in the waist of his jeans and starts tugging them down off his arse; Liam catches the gist and helps him rip them off.

 

CANOGA PARK, JULY 30, 2024

Louis calls up his gyno to find out that Evelin has left the practice to go be an attending at a hospital, which is nice for her, if not so much for him. He liked her a lot, and she knew him so well — she'd delivered Amir, and been there for him when he miscarried. But life goes on, so he starts calling more local practices, and ends up getting an appointment with Dr. Elijah McCann.

“Elijah sounds Mormon,” Louis says to Liam in the car on the way there. He's driving; Liam wanted to ride shotgun so he could answer work emails on the way. “You reckon he's one of them Mormons?”

“Mormons aren't allowed to drink coffee, right? Always thought that was weird.”

Louis rolls to a stop behind a long line of cars at a light. They're hitting lunchtime traffic, now. They went in the early afternoon, so they can swing by the school on their way back and grab the kids, but every PR professional within ten miles is on break and heading to Corner Bakery. “Can they drink tea?”

Liam puts his phone down and considers this. “Good question. Don't think so, right? It’s caffeine that's sinful?”

“What a sad life.”

“I don't reckon they think so.”

“That's only ‘cos they don't know what they’re missing.”

 

*

 

Elijah seems Midwestern, not Mormon, and accordingly Midwestern nice and sort of chinless. He's young, too. A few years younger than them, even. He greets them when they come in and then rushes off to finish up another patient, but he doesn't keep them waiting long, so Liam only gets halfway through a  _Time_  article about bees. He was apparently engrossed enough that he lets out a very soft “Nooo” when the nurse comes to fetch them.

She ushers them into a small but tastefully decorated exam room, then takes some of Louis’ blood. He sits there watching as Liam hovers in the corner, fiddling with the jars of tongue depressors and cotton balls.

“You nervous?” Louis says to him.

Liam looks up and shakes his head. He's still got his reading glasses on. “More excited than nervous.”

The nurse finishes up with Louis; he thanks her, wincing as she pulls the tube out, then tugs his sleeve back down.

“I don't expect he’s gonna tell me anything totally off the wall,” Louis says, once she's left them. “Obviously, neither of us are infertile.”

Liam comes over and sits in the hard little chair next to the exam table. “Well, what if my sperm hates your sperm?”

“My eggs, love.”

“Right, I forgot you've got both.”

“I'm the fountain of all life, me,” Louis jokes.

“What if my sperm doesn't like your eggs? They've never met. And we didn't like each other, at first. Might be like that.” He winks, then removes his cheaters and slips them into his pocket.

“I liked you!” Louis exclaims. “ _You_  didn't like  _me_. Where's your glasses case, babe? You're gonna break that pair too.”

“Forgot it in the car. You thought I was a stiff!”

“How many times are we gonna have this conversation? For the record, you  _were_  a bit of a stiff, and I liked you anyway.”

Liam laughs.

Elijah comes in, then. “Hello again!”

“Hullo,” they chorus.

“So, Louis,” he says very cheerily, straddling a stool and rolling over to him. “You need a new OB?”

“I’m hoping to. Me and Liam here are trying for a kid.”

Liam gives the doctor a little wave.

“Gotcha, gotcha. Well, your blood pressure looks good…” He presses his stethoscope to Louis’ chest. “Deep breath in, please… you work out?”

“Like twice a week. Weights, mostly. A little cardio.”

“We go on jogs,” Liam says. “With the dog. Just moved to a great neighborhood for it, lots of running paths.”

“Yeah, it's awful,” Louis says, and Elijah chuckles.

“Cardio is good,” he says, and slips the stethoscope back around his neck. “So, how long have you been trying?”

“I’d been on the pill,” Louis says. “Only went off it a little more than two weeks ago. So not very long.”

Elijah nods, then rolls to the side to fetch a clipboard. “Super. Can I ask you a few more questions?”

Louis shrugs. “Fire away.”

“Have you been pregnant before?”

“Yeah.”

Elijah jots this down. “How many pregnancies?” he says, meeting Louis’ eyes.

Louis wasn't expecting this. His face grows hot, and he's silent for too long. The doctor and Liam are both staring at him.

“Three,” he says.

Liam’s brows meet in confusion. His lips part, but he doesn't say anything.

“Okay.” More jotting. “And how many live births?”

“Two,” Louis mutters.

“History of miscarriage?”

“Once.”

Liam looks down at the floor, then.

“At how many weeks?”

“Eight. But my gyno at the time said it was delayed, it actually — it stopped, y’know, being viable before then,” he says fumblingly. “At six weeks.”

“Okay, good to know. And how long did it take you to get pregnant, each time?”

Louis lets out a little laugh. “Uh, no time? I mean, they were all unplanned.”

“Gotcha,” Elijah says cheerfully. “And you got pregnant with Liam, or a different partner?”

“Not Liam. My ex-husband, all three times.”

“Okay. Liam, what’s your classification, do you know?”

“Uh… alpha.”

“Do you have any biological children?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a daughter with my ex-wife. Successfully reproduced myself the once.”

Louis smiles at him. He smiles back, but he looks a bit distracted.

The nurse comes back in and hands a print-out to Elijah, who examines it and gives Louis a toothy smile. “Bloodwork looks great. How long have you been trying, now?”

“I went off my birth control the twentieth,” Louis says. “And we’ve been doing it unprotected since then.”

Liam gets an amused look and mouths “doing it?” back at him. Louis tries not to laugh.

“I don't see any reason you two wouldn't be able to conceive, but keep in touch,” Elijah says. “If you aren’t pregnant after six months, let me know. But you should try for about a year before we consider any interventions.”

“A year?” Louis says. “Shit. That long?”

“I really don't expect it's actually going to take that long.”

“But that's how long before you start shooting me up with needles full of horse piss, or whatever?” he quips.

“Sorry,  _what_?” Liam exclaims.

“Pregnant horse urine, they shoot you up with that when you've got low estrogen.”

Liam looks horrified.

“We don't shoot people up with urine,” Elijah says quickly. “It comes as tablets. And you won’t need it.”

“So…” Louis cups his hands to his stomach. “This all looks solid, then? My, like, architecture?”

“Great architecture,” Elijah says, beaming at him. “You have a great uterus.”

Louis grimaces. “I assumed it was alright, at least. We’ll keep at it, then.”

“Anything we can do to hurry it up, though?” Liam says. “Getting pregnant?”

“Why, love, you got a plane to catch?”

Liam laughs. “No, just wondering.”

“There are a few things that can boost your chances of conceiving,” Elijah says. “I’ll print you guys a list.”

“Love a list,” Louis says.

Liam nods.

 

*

 

Liam drives them back. They're quiet, but it isn't their usual companionable, comfortable quiet. There's some kind of tension in the air. Louis can feel it sticking in his throat and behind his ribs as they wind their way through the sunny hills, heading to the kids’ school.

“Sorry I never told you I had a miscarriage,” he finally says.

“No worries,” Liam says too quickly, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look over at him. “It's not necessarily any of my business.”

“We’re trying to have a baby, so maybe it was…” Louis rolls his head over to look out the window. They roll to a stop in some gridlock as they're passing a park. A couple is tossing a Frisbee back and forth in the grass; they keep laughing uproariously whenever one of them fumbles it. If he was in a lighter mood he'd nudge Liam, point them out, say ‘us’. “And you looked surprised,” he murmurs.

Liam nods slowly. “‘Cos I was surprised.”

“That I didn't tell you?”

“Yeah. I just — we tell each other everything.”

“Not everything,” Louis says. “It was this ancient thing between me and Zayn. You don't tell me everything that went down with you and Cecilia.”

“I’ve told you most of it,” Liam mutters. “The worst of it.”

“But I wouldn't hold it against you if you hadn’t. I don't hold it against you that you take calls from her hiding in the bathroom where I can't hear.”

“I'm not holding this  _against_  you, Tommo. I was just surprised, that's all.”

Louis finds himself frustrated for some reason that he suspects isn't necessarily rational, fair, or really having much at all to do with Liam. “You and I were apart for five years, we barely spoke. It's not reasonable to think there's nothin’ we haven't told each other from that time.”

“I know! I don't think that! Why are you yelling at me?”

Liam sounds so hurt and genuinely confused that his voice is like a knife to the heart. Louis takes a deep breath. They roll to a lurching stop in traffic yet again, and Liam reaches over and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Louis mutters. “I'm sorry. You haven't done anything wrong. It's just embarrassing to me, what happened. We were separated after he cheated, and I slept with him ‘cos I was lonely and pathetic and I missed him, and I got pregnant. Again. And I was gonna get an abortion so I could go ahead with the divorce, and I miscarried it instead. And that's it.” His jaw has gotten tight. “That whole couple of months was really crap, and I don't like to think about it. That's all.”

Liam drops his hand down to lace their fingers together and gives Louis a hard squeeze. “Look, I wasn't going to bring it up. I could tell you were upset when he asked.”

“Right. I feel properly stupid, then.”

“You don't have to.”

“I hate that we were estranged, you and me. And I don't like to think about it.”

Liam rubs his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand. “Me too. So let's don't.”

By the time they pull up to the school, the traffic has made them later than they wanted to be, and it's an absolute zoo. They wait for the kids for ages, sitting in the kiss and ride lane, surrounded by a crush of shouting kids and school buses.

Liam texts their family group chat from the dashboard panel while Louis watches out the window, looking for them in the throngs of kids heading down the sidewalk.

“Where are these hooligans?” Liam mutters. “It's two-thirty. What are they getting up to?”

“Just speaking for my own kids, but… smoking in the bathroom, setting fire to their maths teacher, duffing up —”

Liam laughs. “All that at once?”

“Well, they're advanced for their age.”

Sunday and Mia appear out of nowhere, yank the backseat door open and tumble into it.

“Hi!” they chirp breathlessly.

“Hi girls,” Louis says, setting his phone down and peering back at them. “Where's Amir?”

Mia shrugs.

“He and I had our last period together, it was silent reading study hall,” Sunday says. “I think he went off with Jason after.”

Louis nods. He’s not a big fan of Jason. Of course, protecting his son from the Jasons of the world is like whack-a-mole — as soon as one’s gone, another appears. Amir has inherited Zayn’s looks and unflappable demeanor, but he’s more sensitive and less headstrong than Mia is, and is consequently always in a lot more danger of being caught up in tomfoolery.

Amir appears, then, meandering down the sidewalk, surrounded by little blokes who he divests himself from with a carefree wave. He leans in the passenger window and says, “Dad, can I go to Evan’s house?”

“Who's Evan, again?”

“He lives down the road from us.”

“Have I met him or his parents?”

Amir rolls his eyes.

“Stop that,” Louis says. “That's a shit habit. You do that to your teachers?”

“When their backs are turned.”

“That's even worse.”

“Evan came to my birthday party.”

“He's blonde,” Sunday pipes up. “He has a mole on his cheek?”

“Oh,  _that_  kid. Amir, it's Thursday, Zayn’s picking you up tonight.”

“I know,” Amir says. “He can pick me up from Evan’s.”

“Then he has to make two stops.”

“I texted him! He said okay.”

Louis exhales. “Alright, then. So you're riding the bus?”

“Yeah.”

“Will his parents meet you?”

“His nanny will.”

“Alright, be safe. Text me when you're there. Is your phone tracking?”

Amir shrugs.

“I’m checking,” Louis says, getting out his own. “Siri, where’s Amir?”

“He is one foot away,” Siri cheerfully replies. “Would you like his exact GPS coordinates?”

“No, thanks. Alright, go on.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Amir says. He always says Dad when his friends or his sister are in earshot; but when he’s sick or sleepy, Louis is still Daddy. 

Ever since Liam came into their lives, and even more so since they moved, Amir’s been pretending at being grown-up, but it just doesn’t come as easily to him as it does to Mia. He seems to struggle with that, like he resents all of it — both that it’s hard, and that he has to pretend. The group of friends he’s fallen in with aren’t helping. Louis isn’t sure what to do about it, except continually let him know that he can still be a little kid when he wants to be. Amir seems to find relief in this and chafe at it in equal measure. 

Louis tousles his dark hair. “Sure.”

When he's out of earshot, Liam says, “I don't like those kids.”

“What kids?” says Louis.

“The ones who were at his birthday. The little crew of skateboarders.”

“Oh, they're little shits, absolutely. Not worse than anyone I was hanging out with at that age, though.”

“Yeah, but these kids’ve got money,” Liam says, placing his hand at the back of Louis’ seat and glancing behind him as he maneuvers the Rolls out from behind a bus. “Makes ‘em more dangerous.”

“Payno, they're eight.”

“I mean later on, down the line.”

Louis is silent. He agrees, but he’s trying to stuff it down for the sake of not being overbearing.

“I don't like Evan or Jason,” Sunday chimes in.

“Not mean, are they?” Louis says.

“Not to me,” she says. “I don’t think they notice me.”

Louis glances sidelong at Liam. Sunday, the most outwardly sensitive and least outgoing of the three, has had the hardest time adjusting to the Calabasas move. They've been tiptoeing around this. Liam likes to handle things with his daughter by himself; he gets testy and defensive when Louis pushes.

“They’re lame,” Mia says, typically dismissive. “They think they're so cool, wait ‘til they get to third grade.”

“No name-calling,” Louis mutters, more out of habit than anything.

“I wish we got the whole summer off at this school,” Mia continues, unfazed. “I want to go to the beach.”

“You've got another big break coming up in August,” Louis says. “Nearly three weeks long.”

“Yeah, we can go somewhere if you guys want,” Liam says. “Skiing, maybe?”

“Li-am, that's the opposite of the beach!” Mia teases him.

Liam laughs. “I’m just thinking all your mates are going to go to the beach, or the Caribbean, or whatever. If we go skiing, you're ahead of the curve.”

“I like skiing,” Sunday says. “I like Aspen.”

“Two votes for Aspen,” Liam says.

“Wait, but there's a drama camp here at the end of August, Dad,” Mia says. “I want to go.”

“How long?” Louis says.

“A week.”

“We’ll be back in time. We’ll do eight days in Aspen, or somethin’. And then you can stay at your dad’s place while you're going to camp, so it evens out.”

“Or I could just stay with you,” Mia counters.

Louis glances back at her. They exchange a complicated look. Sunday pretends to be engrossed in her phone.

“What's up?” he says.

Liam shifts in his seat.

“I don't like Natalie,” she whispers.

“Then you're in luck, baby, ‘cos they apparently just broke up,” Louis says.

“Whatever,” she says.

“We split custody, Mia, I can't just steal you for weeks on end.”

“You can if you ask him and he says it's okay.”

“Alright, we can talk about this later.”

“Dadd-y,” she sings.

“Later, Mims.”

Liam turns the radio on and fiddles with it, tuning it to the local hits station. “Who is this?” he mutters. “I keep hearing this song.”

Louis listens for a second, squinting. “I think that new group? Yonics?”

“Oh no, I'm out of touch,” Liam says unhappily.

“I only know them ‘cos I was thinking about managing this girl group, I still dunno if I will or not, their bassist has got, uhh, what was it… oh!” He backhands Liam gently on the shoulder. “Got kidney problems, actually.”

“Right, I remember you saying.”

“But she’s about to get her cousin’s kidney, so she should be fine.”

“That's good,” Liam says, turning the radio down a bit.

“Anyway, they're friends with the Yonics girls, and their bassist George said to me —”

“George?”

“It's a girl George.”

“Like Nancy Drew,” Sunday pipes up.

“Yeah, sure,” says Louis, despite having only the fuzziest understanding of who Nancy Drew even is. “So George says they originally wanted their name to be Yonic Youth. Which I thought was pretty fuckin’ funny. But they went with Yonics.”

“That would be funny,” Liam agrees. “But then you’ve got the problem of people thinking you're a parody band.”

“Exactly, yeah.”

“What's yonic mean?” Mia says.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Whatever, Dad, I'll just Google it.”

“When I was your age, we couldn’t Google this shit,” Louis says. “If I had questions about dirty stuff I had to ask my year nine friend, Pinky.”

“ _Pinky_ ,” Liam mouths in amusement.

“That’s what we called him!”

“We actually did have Google back then, Tommo. I know you're a bit more elderly than me, but —”

Louis swats him for this.

“Oi, don't hit the driver!”

“I meant my house didn't have a computer ‘til I was older.”

“Shit, yeah, I reckon we didn't either. I dunno who I asked about those things… probably my sisters.”

“See,” Mia crows. “That’s what sisters are  _for_. So you should tell me things, so I can pass them along.”

“Nice try,” says Louis.

 

*

 

Liam has some work to do on the tomato plants in their back garden, so Louis drags a chaise over through the grass to keep him company while he works, trying to sun himself despite the shade from their privacy hedges and tall trees. Liam kneels in the dirt as he works, looking handsome in a white tank and jeans, his dark eyes focused and his lips slightly parted. He's sun-dappled, the shadows of the leaves on him shifting every moment as the trees sway in the California breeze.

Louis sips a beer as he watches him. “I’ve decided this is my last drink,” he says. “‘Til God knows when.”

The corner of Liam's lips twitch up. “Thanks for your noble sacrifice, Tommo. I’ll wear a poppy for you.”

“Hey, not to pry, but what're you gonna tell Sunday when we get pregnant?”

Liam glances up, shading his eyes. “Huh?”

“I mean, my kids know about all that already, but you haven't had the talk with her yet.”

“No, I haven't,” Liam mutters. “She knows people who are together have babies, I figured that's enough for now. They get it in school.”

“Not ‘til year eight or something.”

“Well, she doesn't tend to pester me about those things.”

“You're lucky. Think my kids got a double stubborn gene.”

“Harry says it’s ‘cos you and Zayn are both Capricorns,” Liam says, and he prunes an extra limb off of one of the plants and tosses it into a Hefty bag lying beside him.

“Where is Harold, by the way?” Louis says. “I haven't seen him since the wedding.”

Liam shrugs. “Always in Milan or Paris, aren't they? But I ran into him last month, out to lunch with Mitch... he’ll probably be out this way again soon. I think they're about to start rehearsals on that CIA flick.”

In May, after a year-long whirlwind courtship, Harry had married Prince Angelos of Greece and Denmark in a Orthodox ceremony in Greece, followed by a blowout reception on Vezalis Beach. Of course, Greece no longer being a monarchy, Angelos is a prince in name only, but now so is Harry. The boys have been taking the piss out of him at every opportunity, calling him ‘gingy’ and asking after Kate and Wills.

Angelos is strapping, handsome and charismatic, the billionaire founder of a formidable fashion house named after him, a retired race car driver, and nineteen years older than Harry with two adult children from a previous marriage. He calls Harry his “lovely muse,” and is constantly designing ludicrous outfits for him and nuzzling him demonstratively in public.

When the news of their relationship first broke, Zayn had texted Louis a link to a  _People_  article about it and said,  _is this real??_ , to which Louis had replied,  _Yeah, its real, why do you ask ?_ He had, true to form, never actually answered. His next text was days later, asking Louis if the kids still like green peppers on their pizza.

He’s only said one thing about it since, right after the wedding. He came to pick up the kids the same day their flight back from Athens got in. Louis had answered the door to Zayn, rumply-looking with a five o’clock shadow, and asking in a bitter, hurt tone: “So how was what’s his name’s wedding to that old Greek fuck?” To which Louis had replied in jet lagged confusion, “Sorry, did you just call Harry  _what’s his name_?”

“We should talk album seven,” Louis says to Liam, finishing off his beer. “At some point. Not immediately. I do like that we’ve all been taking it slow.”

“Yeah, especially if you and me get pregnant.”

“It’s gonna be weird,” he muses. “Having a brand-new baby. I feel like I’ve just got the hang of these ones.”

“We can wait, a bit,” Liam says. “If you wanted to get married first, or let the kids settle into the house a bit longer…”

“No, no, if we wait, it’ll be worse,” Louis says. “I don’t want — this is perfect timing, because when this kid’s round eleven, we’ll be sending the older ones off to uni. I don’t want, like — y’know, we get them out of the house, and then we turn around and we’ve still got a three-year-old, y’know? Trade a bit of chaos now for peace later.”

Liam smiles at him. “Whatever you want, Tommo.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I agree with everything you just said, and I will also put as many babies in you as you want, when you want, so just say the word,” Liam says. He gets to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans and coming over to him. Louis moves his feet so Liam can perch on the end of the chaise. He does, and lays a companionable hand on Louis’ thigh.

“Hi there,” Louis murmurs.

Liam smiles dirtily and slides his hand higher, brushing against his cock and sending a pleasant zing up his spine.

“Mud man,” he purrs. “Getting me all muddy.”

“Have we fucked out here yet?”

“No, don’t think we have.”

“We should,” Liam says, and presses his fingers into the heat between Louis’ thighs, brushing his cock again. “Christen it.”

“Aye,” Louis says, grinning. “Let’s make a baby in the cabbage patch.”

“Ain’t growing no cabbages back here,” Liam says, laughing.

“Plant some cabbages, Payno.”

“I’ve got an herb garden, the tomatoes and the courgettes.”

“Let’s make a baby in the courgette patch.”

“Tomorrow, when the kids are at school,” Liam says. “What days this week are we s’posed to have sex, by the way? When are your thingy levels gonna be high?”

“Tomorrow’s one of ‘em,” Louis says. “And, uh. Saturday?”

“Oh, good, the kids won’t be here.”

“Sunday will be.”

“Nah, she has her horse lessons on Saturdays, remember?”

“Right, right. Perfect,” Louis says. “We can fuck all afternoon.”

“I’m really a massive fan of this making a baby stuff,” Liam says, and leans forward to kiss him, hands at either side of his waist. Louis snogs him back hard with his beer-bitter mouth, biting at his full bottom lip and pulling him close. Liam plants a knee between his thighs, pressed against his semi, and Louis feels warmth spiking in his gut and lower back. He wraps his arms around Liam’s neck.

They go like this for about ten minutes, ‘til they’re mussy-haired and breathing hard, and then Mia comes around the corner of a hedgerow, palming a football back and forth.

“Oh, gross!” she exclaims. “Get a room!”

Startled, they jump and separate. Liam wipes his lips off and climbs off of him, sheepishly returning to his tomato plants.

“Sorry, love,” Louis says, laughing. “I thought you were doing your homework?”

“I finished it,” Mia says.

“Without making Amir help you?”

Mia shrugs. “It’s not my fault he’s good at math and I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all, you’re just a bit unmotivated.”

“Same thing!”

“Amir can’t help you take tests.”

“Yeah, but he can tell me what to write on my palm before I take them,” Mia says with a cheeky grin.

“No cheating,” Louis tells her sternly. “You don’t learn that way.”

Mia tosses the ball to him, and he catches it one-handed and tosses it back. She starts doing footwork tricks. “Do  _you_  use geometry?”

“Yes,” Louis lies. “Every day. Me and Liam are always calculating, um, the volume of parallelograms.”

“Love those parallelograms!” Liam calls, clicking his clippers together.

“You guys are really bad liars,” Mia says. “Can you practice passes with me, or do you have to kiss Liam some more?”

“Ahh,” Louis groans as he gets up out of the chaise. “Nah, I'm all yours.”

 

CALABASAS, AUGUST 3, 2024

Liam comes back from dropping Sunday off at the stables and finds Louis curled up in the sun-splashed breakfast nook, scrolling through Twitter and sipping a cup of coffee.

“That decaf?” Liam says.

“Nah.”

Liam picks it up and carries it off to the kitchen, setting it on the counter.

“Hey!” Louis exclaims.

“You're not supposed to drink coffee,” Liam calls to him. “It's on the list.”

“That's for when there's actually a baby in me!”

Liam pours him another cup from the decaf pot they keep for the housekeeper, splashes some half and half in it, comes back over and hands it to him. “No, it makes it harder to get pregnant, too. You take your B6?”

Louis is about to respond when there's a very loud drilling sound from upstairs. They're having the east wing where the kids sleep remodeled, and they try to only have work on it done when Mia and Amir are with Zayn, which has made their weekends significantly more chaotic and loud.

“Nah, I forgot,” he finally says when it subsides.

Liam hands him a vitamin.

“You're getting your knickers twisted,” Louis says, and tosses it back with a sip of coffee. “I’m really not that hard to get pregnant. Ask Zayn.”

“Yeah, that’s something I'll definitely do,” Liam says, sliding into the booth across from him. “Hey Zayn, you know how well you and me get along, especially when it comes to Louis? Let's talk about how I'm trying to have a baby with him! And suddenly I'm laid out unconscious on the pavement.”

“I don't think you'd go down in one shot,” Louis murmurs, smiling at him over the rim of his mug. “Two maybe… Anyway, it's alright between you these days, innit?”

“I mean, alright like we can be in the same room together and make a bit of polite conversation,” Liam says. “That's a step up from still being frozen out.”

“He was hurt, babe. You know him, that's his M.O.”

“I know.”

“And he was angry at me for it too,” Louis says. “But he can't freeze me out, ‘cos we've got kids. And hey, I can't even get polite conversation from Ceci, so.”

“You weren't in a band with Ceci with five years,” Liam points out.

“You don't know that,” Louis says, grinning. “I got side projects.”

“You got a side project with my ex-wife? Bit weird.”

“She sings, don't she?”

“She does,” Liam says. “You've never heard her live, have you? She's actually really talented. Great pipes.”

Louis pouts at this.

“What?” Liam says.

“What about _my_ pipes?"

He flaps his hand. “You know I love your voice!"

“Well, you could say it."

"Aw, now you're just busting my balls..." Liam pushes the window open, letting the breeze in. There's little birds flitting around in the bougainvillea and honeysuckle that are crawling up the side of their house. “Hey,” he says, “wanna go have sex?”

“Always, lad.”

“Forgot how fun it is to do it unprotected on purpose,” Liam says cheerfully. “Feel like my year nine health teacher’s gonna pop up and slap my hands with a ruler.”

Louis finishes up his coffee and stands, stretching. “And that gets you hard?”

Liam slips out of his seat and kneels at Louis’ feet, kissing his stomach where his t-shirt has ridden up, then lower, toward his cock, while snaking his hand up the back of his boxers and giving his arse a hard squeeze.

Louis inhales. His skin tingles wherever Liam’s lips land. “Mmm,” he hums happily, and runs his fingers through Liam’s dark hair.

Liam mouths at the shaft of his cock through the thin fabric, and Louis sinks his nails in.

 

*

 

Liam drags him upstairs by the hand, past the busy builders (who they wave to) and into their bedroom, slamming the door shut and half-muffling the sounds of circular saws and drills.

They fall back against the goose-down white comforter, snogging, and Liam strips his boxers off him lightning fast, immediately going for his cock.

“I read the baby chances are better if you come first,” he says, rolling Louis onto his back and flicking his tongue over his tip. “Dunno why.”

“Like I'm gonna argue with that either way?” Louis says, breathing heavily, and drops his head back against the bed.

Liam blows him like only Liam can blow him; sloppy, eager, untiring. He takes him pretty deep toward the end, and Louis arches his back off the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and seeing stars reflect off the backs of his eyelids.

“Fuck,” he sighs raggedly.

Liam moves up over him on the bed, then, his lips wet with Louis’ come and his eyes all intense. “Hi,” he murmurs.

Louis happily spreads his legs. They start to snog slowly, taking long drags off each other’s lips. Liam nuzzles him, then slips two lubed fingers inside of him.

“Clap the lights off…?”

Liam obliges, and the soft, blackout-curtained midday dark swallows them.

“Can I give you a hickey?” he says, mouthing at Louis’ neck.

“But what’ll our baby think of us?” Louis murmurs back. “We haven't even conceived it, bit early for it to find out how gross we are.”

“Our baby,” he repeats, his voice soft and reverent. “Man, I like the sound of that…”

“Me too, Payno,” he says, tingling warmth spreading in his chest. He runs his hands through Liam’s hair, ruffling it against the grain.

Liam slides into him gently, sucking at his bottom lip. Louis lets out a husky moan. They get going in a gentle rhythm and roll over, snogging more passionately.

A few minutes in they're interrupted by a knock; Liam stills, and Louis calls, “What?”

“Are we tearing off the crown moulding in the east wing master?” a builder shouts through the door.

“Yes please!”

“Alright,” he calls back, and they hear his footsteps retreating.

Louis musses Liam’s hair some more, and Liam smiles boyishly.

“Hi handsome,” he murmurs to him, “you gonna put a baby in me or what?”

Liam wraps an arm around him and starts thrusting more powerfully. Louis rewards him with moans and praise, telling him he's so good, he feels so good. He comes after just a few minutes, burying his nose in Louis’ sweaty hairline right below his ear and working his hips as his orgasm winds down.

Then Liam grabs a pillow, shoves it under Louis’ back and tells him to keep his legs in the air.

“Do wot?” Louis replies in bafflement.

“It’ll help,” Liam says. “Give my sperm a solid shot at you.”

“Is that real?”

“Yes! It’s on our list.”

“I skimmed the list,” Louis admits.

“Also, I read online that you're not supposed to eat nightshades, like tomatoes and eggplants? They're too alkaline.”

“Do you know what alkaline means? ‘Cos I don't.”

“No, not really, but it's not good for your womb, apparently.”

“Please don't call it my  _womb_ ,” Louis exclaims, laughing. He swivels around so he can put his legs up on the headboard. “Well, this is boring, I'm just looking at the wall. How long do I do this for?”

“A half hour. I'll read you funny tweets.”

“There's a good husband…” Louis realizes what he said a few beats later, and cranes his neck to look up at Liam. “Sorry, always forget you're not me husband yet.”

Liam smooths his hair back from his forehead. “I forget too. Y’know, we could just go and get married.”

“Nah, my family’d kill me if I eloped again… And I want a nice wedding with you. I don't want to do the rushed thing again.”

“But I already had a nice wedding,” Liam murmurs. “I’m a bit afraid all my friends’ll get mad at me when I ask them buy me another gift.”

“You tell ‘em to take up with me if they've got a problem,” Louis says with his typical brio. “I'll knock their teeth out.”

Liam leans over and kisses him upside down like Spider-Man. “Hey, um, speaking of you knocking folks’ teeth out… what did you do to James Fairley?”

“Who?”

“Blonde, sort of a dick? Producer at RCA?”

“Ohh, him… Why d’you ask?”

“‘Cos I was gonna work with him on something, and when he found out I was involved, he pulled out and said to Mike he didn't want to work with someone who was with you. He apparently called you, quote, a nasty little thug, and said you need to keep your hands to yourself? And I had no idea what that was about, so I had to sort of just play it off to Mike like I did.”

Louis laughs so hard at this he wheezes a bit. “I only smacked him the once!”

Liam's mouth falls open. “You did  _what_?”

“It was at a party, it was after that whole mess with Zayn’s song… he was the one who leaked to TMZ that it was about you.”

“Holy shit. Really? Never knew that.”

“Yeah. I got after him about it, and ‘e called me a whore. I hit him in the mouth, and we went a few rounds. I felt proper stupid, after. Really not at all worth it. I didn't know he kept a grudge, though.”

“Christ...”

“I know.”

“Well, I didn't know he called you a  _whore_ ,” Liam says. “What a shit. I don't like that one bit.”

“Obviously I didn't, either. To be fair, he actually said I was ‘whoring around’.”

“What’d he even mean by that?”

“That I was fucking around when I was pregnant with Mia. With you, specifically. I mean, he didn't say your name, but me sleeping with you is all anyone cares about, even though I hooked up with a couple girls toward the beginning...”

Liam sighs. “Sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for, lad?

He shrugs.

“Hey, you promised to read me funny tweets,” Louis says. “I don't hear any funny tweets.”

Liam obligingly gets his phone out, smiling.

 

*

 

When Louis is finally allowed to return his legs to the non-upright position, he heads to the kitchen to heat up a piece of pizza. Liam traipses downstairs from consulting with the builders and peeks into view, saying, “Pizza?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, hitting start on the microwave.

“Tomato sauce on that?”

“As is standard for pizza.”

Liam nods. “Tomatoes’re nightshades.”

“Liam, for fuck’s sake…”

Liam laughs. “Alright, alright. Don't throw any hands at me, you maniac slapper.”

“You don't want any o’ these hands, boyo,” Louis says menacingly, and flexes.

“In this corner, we got Louis Thuglinson, the lightweight title champ…”

“‘Scuse you! Welterweight, at the least!”

Liam comes over and wraps his arms around his waist, kissing him on the back of the neck. His whiskers tickle. Louis laughs and tries to twist out of his grip, which leads to them wrestling on the floor while the microwave beeps in the background.

 

CABRILLO BEACH, AUGUST 7, 2024

Harry was just going to draw himself a quick bath, soak his tired joints and then go lie in bed and answer emails. But then he started fiddling around with with his bath blends, and found a really good Spotify station, and before he knew it he had settled in for an hour-long soak in jasmine and rosehips, listening to Ella Fitzgerald and trying not to think about how mixed up and stupid he feels.

He dims the lights and draws his knees up to his chest, trying to squeeze comfort out of the warm water, the fresh-cut lilies on the counter and the soft yellow light of the bathroom. Maybe he’d feel better if he had some lavender for the bath. He just ran out of it the other day.

He finally gets out around midnight and moves fragrantly over to the sink to wash his face, but the second he picks up the Kiehl’s, he hears a thump in the bedroom and freezes.

There's no panic button nearby, so Harry throws a bathrobe on, picks up the plunger and holds it like a bat. He heads warily out into the master bedroom.

At the far end of the room, climbing in the window he left open for the cross breeze, is a slim, dark-haired figure — Zayn.

Harry lowers the plunger and tosses it aside, exhaling. “What the fuck?”

“You were gonna hit me with a plunger, mate?” Zayn says with a chuckle, landing light-footed on the floor and stepping toward him, into the light.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You really shouldn't leave windows open. Lotta psychos out there...”

“Those psychos don't know my gate code!  _You_  don't even know my gate code!”

“Yeah I do, it's your mum’s birthday backwards,” Zayn says. “All your codes was always your mum’s birthday backwards.”

He goes to the bed and settles down on the edge of it, digging in his jacket pocket like he's looking for a cigarette. The music continues faintly from the bathroom.

“Don't sit,” Harry says, “you aren't staying.”

Zayn puts a smoke between his lips and grins. “I'm not?” he says, sparking his lighter underneath it.

“We’re not having sex.”

“We’re not?”

“And don't smoke.”

“If I’m not staying, what's it matter if I smoke?”

“This is my husband’s cottage! You can't be here! Aren't you afraid of him?” Harry fights the worry creeping into his voice before he adds: “You know he's been having you tailed, right?”

Zayn nods and blows out smoke. “I’ve got my own PI followin’ his PI. It's pretty funny. Like that comic... Spy versus Spy.”

Harry says nothing, but comes over and sits next to him on the bed. “Take your shoes off if you're staying,” he says.

“What does it matter that it's your husband’s cottage?” Zayn says, flicking his lazy, dark-eyed gaze over and meeting Harry’s eyes. Harry goes soft inside. “He ain't here.”

“I know,” he mutters. “He's in New York.”

“I needed to see you. We need to talk. Like, for real.”

“I know.”

“How much does ‘e know?”

“Not a lot,” Harry says. “I only told him about that first time we slept together. Like I said, I was allowed that. Either of us can sleep with whoever we want, long as it's just the once, and we tell each other it happened.”

Zayn nods, continuing to smoke. Harry hates the smell, but he finds it sort of comforting, too. It reminds him of parties.

“But... a few days after I told him, his bodyman saw your car leaving here, and he ran your plates.”

“He doesn't know we dated as kids, does he?”

“No,” Harry says. “I never tell anyone about that.”

“You could tell ‘im we’re just old friends reconnecting,” Zayn says. “Say you had me over for tea or summat, not to rearrange your insides.”

“I’m not telling him anything,” Harry says. “We haven't talked about it. I got this intel from one of the maids.”

“ _Intel_. Real functional marriage you got.”

“It works for me,” Harry snaps.

“Then why d’you keep fucking me, huh?”

Harry shoots a hard look at him. But Zayn’s face is soft and tender. His hand moves, and pulls loose the silk tie on his bathrobe. It falls open, exposing Harry.

Harry reaches a hand up and cups the side of Zayn’s face in it, stroking his thumb over the bristles of his goatee.

Zayn pulls him down onto the bed and they kiss, soft lips chasing each other. Harry’s tongue pushes into the slick of Zayn’s mouth, and Zayn starts to furtively undress himself.

“God, I want you,” Harry moans, sprawling back against the bed, his robe open. Salt air is coming in the window, making the room smell like sweat, making saliva flood his mouth. “I want you inside me, it's all I can fucking think about anymore...”

Zayn tosses his jeans aside and meets Harry’s lips again, fisting his hands in his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes. “It's all I think about either —”

“When he fucks me I lie there and I think about you, when I’m alone I think about you, I jerk off and I think about you —”

Zayn starts to stroke himself, closing his eyes, his necklaces catching the light as it swings on his neck.

Harry stares at his handsome face, trying to memorize again the line of his brow, the curve of his lips, the fan of his dark lashes, all these things he had spent ten years forgetting.

Zayn kisses him again, hungrily. “I've got a condom,” he breathes in Harry’s ear, and Harry nods.

He has it on himself so fast, and he's inside Harry even faster, their chests heaving together, their teeth clicking as they share a messy kiss. Harry moves with him, under him, in a fluid rhythm, grabbing at the sheets, letting out a choked moan. His hard cock rubs against Zayn’s stomach, and Zayn grabs at it, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s tip, making him gasp.

“We can't keep doing this,” Harry sighs, rolling his hips to get Zayn deeper. “I can't keep — fuck —”

“You feel so good,” Zayn says huskily in his ear.

Harry grabs Zayn hard by the back of the neck and lets his eyes close, losing himself in the steady rhythm of the in-and-out, the sound of their soft groans and exhales.

They’ve only had sex five times now since this whole thing began, and it's all very bodice-ripper each time, it's incredible. But Harry had never considered before what having an affair would actually be like. And even though Angelos has only grown colder and more remote since they got married, even though he often treats Harry like a piece of living sculpture to be posed and admired, even though he promised him he’d give him a baby within the year and Harry has been collecting bathroom trash cans full of negative pregnancy tests, it still feels like shit, emotionally. It takes his breath away sometimes, how shitty it all feels. Because he still has feelings for Zayn, big weighty ones, and this is the worst situation to be realizing that in.

He comes with Zayn still inside him, and tears spring to his eyes. He presses his nose to Zayn’s hairline and drags in the smell of him, blinking hard.

Zayn comes shortly after. Harry lies there watching as he ties the condom off and tosses it aside. Zayn glances at him, his expression inscrutable. “Stay?”

Harry nods. “Please.”

Zayn nuzzles up against him. They hold each other, still breathing hard, kissing idly. Harry runs his fingers along Zayn’s forearm.

“Why did you come up t’ me?” Zayn finally says. His voice is throaty from coming. “At Fashion Week. Why'd you do that?”

“I wanted to say hi,” Harry mutters. “I was tired of our stupid feud, I never wanted it in the first place.”

“Yeah, you did. You were pissed off I had a baby with Louis, pissed off I married him, pissed off I left the band, pissed off I got out ahead of you with my career.”

“None of those are good enough reasons to ignore you for the rest of my life. And anyway, all I meant was to say hi, didn't I? I didn't walk up to you thinking, like… I didn't think we'd have sex.”

But they had. A hi turned into a conversation. A conversation turned into Zayn coming with him backstage to the now-empty pre-show suite for the House of Angelos models, turned into Harry opening a bottle of Dom for himself and a tonic water for Zayn, turned into desperate snogging, turned into Zayn taking him from behind over a table.

It was only supposed to be the once, as per his agreement with Angelos. Harry couldn't have even contacted Zayn if he wanted to — he changes his number all the time, and the only person who could give Harry his current one is also the last person he’d ask for it: Louis. But then Zayn DMed him on Insta,  _hey_ ,  _you in LA? can we get together and talk?_

Harry is still surprised that he responded. He had missed Zayn a lot more than he thought.

“How long can you stay?” he murmurs. “You don't have your kids, do you?”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, I left my kids home alone so I could go climb in your window and fuck you.”

“Look, man, I don't know what days you have your kids.”

“Thursday afternoon through Sunday night. So…” Zayn kisses Harry on his temple. “I can stay a while.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. He feels tremendously lonely at the thought of Zayn going.

 

CALABASAS, AUGUST 15, 2024

Liam wakes around seven in the morning to Louis shaking his shoulder. He blearily opens his eyes, squinting. All the lights are on, which is making it terribly hard for his vision to adjust. Louis is holding a slim rod in front of his face.

“What is that?” he says hoarsely, sitting up and blinking.

“That is a no, is what it is,” Louis says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Liam's legs.

Liam’s vision clears. It's a pregnancy test he's holding.

“Ohh,” he says sadly. “Oh well. It's only been a month of trying. That's nothing.”

Louis nods, still looking disappointed. “Yeah. I just thought…” He snorts and pokes himself in the middle. “Dunno. Keep forgetting I’m not twenty-three anymore.”

“You could be pregnant right now, and it's just too early to show up.”

Louis smiles. “Could be a week pregnant.”

“Could be two days pregnant.”

“Could be about nine hours pregnant, actually.”

“You could,” Liam agrees. “I liked last night. We haven't done it on the floor in a while.”

“Yeah, I think you realigned my spine.” Louis pats him on the chest, and Liam reaches up and laces their fingers together. “So, I've got to go in to Syco later this afternoon…”

Liam kisses his knuckles. “Uh-huh…”

“Yeah, and it's probably gonna take a few hours, so you're gonna have to hand the kids off to Zayn.”

Liam nods. “Sure. If you can hand Sunday over to Ceci on Sunday.”

Louis grins. “Did you two realize how confusing that would be when you named her?”

Liam laughs. “It's a different inflection! One’s a proper noun…”

“I think they're both proper nouns, babe.”

“What are you, an English professor?”

“Professor Louis Thuglinson. Where are you gonna be on Sunday?”

“Got a writing session with Lil Pump.”

“Ain't Lil Pump dead?”

“That's Lil Peep.”

“Right.” Louis worries at his lip with his teeth. “So where are we at with the beach?”

“Oh, I got the house!” Liam says, rubbing his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand. “It's one of Shaun’s properties. It's like, one of the top spots on AirBnb, really nice, private beach. But he owed me a favor. So we can drive out on Monday, come back Friday.”

“Is Sunday gonna be back Monday?”

“Yeah, Monday morning.”

Louis hesitates. “This might be paranoid, but… I don't want Ceci to take it out on you that I'm the one doing the hand-off. I feel like she always figures out some stupid way to punish you for it. Even that time you weren't here ‘cos you were in England after your dad got his gallbladder out.”

“Noo, she doesn't take it out on me,” Liam says, even though they both know she does. “Don't worry about it, okay?”

“She doesn't like that I spend way more time with Sunday than she does,” Louis says, flicking his hooded eyes up to meet Liam’s. “And I can't exactly blame her for that.”

“Well,” he says lightly, “she shouldn't have divorced me, left me with our kid, then run off to Los Angeles to be an actress and made me uproot my life and drag our daughter across the country just so she could see her mother two or three times a month. And, y'know — like I was gonna spend the rest of my life alone and pining for her, or something?”

Louis drapes himself over Liam, laying his head on his chest. Liam likes the warm weight of him. He slips his arms around Louis and rubs at his back.

“I’ll be here,” Louis says, his voice muffled. “On Sunday. I’ll invite her in and offer her a cuppa.”

“She doesn't like tea. And you know she never comes in.”

“She doesn't like  _tea_? And you  _married_  her?”

Liam laughs. “She likes espresso. We had a grand piano in the kitchen… in the morning she’d have an espresso, and I'd drink tea and play the piano for her.”

“That sounds nice. We could put our piano in the kitchen.”

“Is there room for a piano in our kitchen?”

“We could put a keyboard in the kitchen.”

Liam laughs and kisses him on the head. “I don't mind morning piano being over. I sort of felt like a trained monkey.”

“Did you set out a tip jar?”

“Yeah, but all I ever got was quarters.”

“Wow, rich girl like that tipping in quarters.”

“Oh, you know how it is, rich people are the worst tippers.”

“Only those old money riches,” Louis says, lifting his head. “People like you an’ me, we’re from the streets, we remember.”

Liam smiles fondly at him and smooths his fringe back. “I'm really excited to have a baby with you.”

Louis’ face softens, and he smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Me too.”

He cuddles up against Liam’s chest again, and they fall quiet.

“Did you talk to Ceci about this Thanksgiving thing?” Louis murmurs.

“Yeah,” Liam says. “She was angry. We agreed to table it ‘til it’s closer.”

“I thought her mum was already making plans.”

“I told her to assume she's not going. But I mean, Sunday’s small, they can always make room if she changes her mind.”

“Think it might be fun to make a turkey,” Louis says.

“If we have it here, I'll handle the turkey, babe.”

Louis makes an affronted noise. “You think I can't handle a turkey?”

“You’d like, not thaw it right and then try to deep fry it and burn the fuckin’ house down.”

Louis slaps half-heartedly at his chest. “You shithead. I would not.”

Liam grins. “How long you think you thaw a turkey for, Tommo?”

“N’awww… how much does it weigh?”

“Ten pounds.”

“Three hours? Couple pounds an hour?”

“Oh God,” Liam says. “Love, I'll make the turkey, alright?”

“Fine, if you insist.”

“I think the fire service would also insist.”

“Punters,” Louis scoffs. “I'll set the house on fire just to time how long it takes them to get out here.”

“Can it be the poolhouse and not the main house?”

“Sure.”

 

 

*

 

Liam is slumped on the couch in the den in front of ESPN2 — continually dozing off only to be jerked awake by Skip Bayless shouting — when his phone buzzes to indicate someone's at the front door.

He pads through the house in his socks and opens the front door to find Zayn standing there on the porch, hands in his pockets.

“Yo,” Zayn says, squinting in the late afternoon sun. “Kids?”

Liam nods and beckons him in. “I think they're both in Mia’s room.”

“Cool,” Zayn says, giving Liam a wide berth as he steps past him, then heading through the entry hall and up the stairs. He smells like cigarettes.

Liam waits. He catches a bit of muffled conversation, and Zayn comes back down, sighing. “She's not dressed for football practice.”

Liam hesitates, then says, “I think you're a bit early.”

“Yeah, I know. No traffic on the 101.” He shrugs. “Weird for a weekday.”

“Right. Want tea?”

Zayn sits down on the stairs and gets his phone out, glancing at it. “Nah, I'm good.”

Amir comes down with his backpack. “I'm ready,” he says.

“Perfect,” Zayn says. “Want to go throw that in the car?”

Amir nods, heading for the front door; Liam awkwardly dances out of his way.

“Sorry to hear about you and Natalie,” he says once they're alone again, just looking for something to cut the silence with.

Zayn looks puzzled for a moment, then nods. “Ohh, yeah, Natalie. Well, shit happens.”

“Right,” Liam says again.

“How's…” Zayn visibly struggles for a neutral topic. “The band?”

“Good,” Liam says. “In a bit of a break right now. Harry… y’know. He's been busy, obviously. Niall, too. Just finished a tour, and got engaged right after...”

“Yeah, I saw,” Zayn says. “I texted him congrats. She seems nice. Wendy? Winnie?”

Liam nods. “Winnie. Yeah, she's sweet. She's a folk singer.”

“Right. I got their Christmas card.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. With the, uh…”

“Ponies, wasn't it?” Zayn says.

“Right, the Shetland ponies.”

“She Irish or a Scot?”

“Scot. I think he proposed when they were up there for her birthday.”

“Cool.”

The conversation runs dry after this, and they look at each other for a few beats. Liam belatedly wonders if it was rude of him to say sorry about Zayn’s breakup, then immediately remind him that both Niall and Harry are attached. Then again, what does Zayn care? Neither of them are in his life, and he seems totally blasé about the loss of Natalie. Maybe he’s realized he likes being single, or something.

Amir bounces back down the stairs, taking a seat next to his father. Liam continues to hover, feeling stupid and unnecessary, but also feeling it would be rude and odd to walk away.

Luckily Mia rescues him by bouncing down the stairs in her scuffed-up cleats and shinguards. “Oi! Let's go!”

“We were waiting for  _you_ , dummy,” Amir points out.

Mia seizes him around the neck and gives him a quick noogie. He wriggles away from her, giggling. “Yeah, and I'm here, dummy, so let’s go!”

She heads for the door, not pausing for them. “Bye Liam!” she calls over her shoulder. “Dad said to not let you forget to walk Bo!”

“I got it,” Liam promises. “Have a good scrimmage.”

“Thanks!”

She lets the door go as she scampers away. It’s about to slam heavily shut behind her when Zayn catches it, lingering in the doorway. “Um,” he says, pausing and letting Amir go through ahead of him. “Could you…”

Liam raises his eyebrows.

“Could you tell Louis…” Zayn scratches the back of his head. “Know what? Never mind.”

“You want to leave him a note?”

“No, I just…” Zayn slips his aviators down over his eyes. Liam stares back at the reflective glass, wondering what expression he's trying to hide. “I — never mind. I’ve been wanting to talk to him about something, in person, like, but it's — I'll wait.”

“Okay,” Liam says, as alarms begin clanging in his head.

“Do us a favor and don’t tell him I said anything?”

He laughs. “You didn't say anything.”

Zayn flashes the briefest of smiles, one that doesn't meet his eyes. “I meant don't tell him I had something I was gonna say.”

“I won't,” Liam lies.

“Cool. Thanks.”

And then he's out the door, heading to his Escalade, and Liam is squinting at his back.

 

*

 

Louis gets home long after dinner is already over. Liam is curled up on the suede couch in the den with a fire roaring, scrolling through Twitter on his tablet; Sunday is curled up across from him, reading a book.

He hears Louis’ car pull up, and then half a minute later he hears Louis, clattering around in the foyer and talking in a chirpy voice to the dog, whose nails are clicking on the parquet. The kids say they can always tell when either Liam or Louis isn't home, because they always make so much noise when they are.

“LIAM,” Louis screams from down the hall.

“YEAH,” Liam bellows back.

“IS THIS MY PLATE IN THE OVEN HERE?”

“YEAH!”

“CHEERS!”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!”

“Daddy?” Sunday says, wincing. “I’m reading.”

“Sorry, love.” Liam sets his tablet down and gets up with a groan, stretching, then goes down the hall into the kitchen.

Louis is eating over the sink with his hands, like a bear that's broken into a campsite. Liam comes up behind him and slips his arms around Louis’ waist, nuzzling him.

“Ayy, lemme eat,” Louis says. “I got like ten days of work done in five hours today, it was madness. I finally got out of there and I didn't even remember where I parked my car.”

“What all did you get done?”

“It was mostly copyright shit, but here's the headlines — finally officially started my own management company. Like, under the Modest umbrella. But it's mine,” he adds happily.

“Whaaat,” Liam exclaims, pinching him on the waist. “Finally! That's fantastic!”

“I know! I'll give you the details, but I need to put some food in my face first…”

Liam presses a kiss behind his ear and pats him on the arse. “Alright, I'll leave you be. Congrats, mate.”

“Thanks, love.”

Liam's back in the den and settling onto the couch when he realizes he didn't tell Louis about what he went out there to tell him about, which was Zayn’s weird non-confession. He’ll tell him later, he reckons.

 

CABRILLO BEACH, AUGUST 20, 2024

Harry is waiting on the porch of the beach cottage when Angelos gets in from LAX. He's drinking sangria, and dressed ratty in a ripped shirt and jeans — he spent the last few hours stripping drywall in the cellar, just to have something to do. He had offered to meet his husband at the airport, but Angelos just laughed into the phone and said, “Why would you meet me at the airport?”

He’s been trying to finish a book since he came out here, a biography of Lee Radziwill, but his mind was drifting so often that he had to put it aside.

Finally the town car pulls up, crunching on the gravel driveway. Harry finishes what's in his glass and sits there, his lips wet and his head buzzing. Around sunrise that morning, he met Zayn at a boutique hotel in Long Beach, and they'd fucked for an hour. There was no A/C in the room, and Harry can still feel the heat in his skin. He can still feel Zayn inside of him. His throat and inner thighs have beard burn.

Angelos saunters out of the car, carrying a duffel bag. His bodyman gets the others; he carries two suitcases easily in one hand, like it's nothing. He's the rare man that can make Harry feel dainty — he's at least six foot seven, and as solid as a smokestack.

“Hello, lovely,” Angelos calls up the driveway as he comes toward Harry.

Harry raises his empty glass in a tipsy salute. “Hi,” he says.

Angelos drops the duffel onto the weathered boards of the porch and comes over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He reeks of aftershave.

“I hate that I left you in this hovel,” he says, settling into the chair across from Harry and pouring himself some sangria out of the jug.

The “hovel” is a three million dollar beachfront property. “I didn't mind,” Harry says. “Nice to get away for a bit.”

Angelos takes in his attire. “You haven't been  _working_ on it, have you?” he says. “I’d just as soon sell it.”

Harry shrugs.

Angelos studies him. “Why did you cut your hair?”

“For my job. Not a lot of long-haired Interpol agents.”

“It's a movie,” he says. “An American one. Surely everyone can suspend their disbelief.”

“I'm not one to argue with directors.”

Angelos’ handsome, square-jawed face shifts subtly. A frost grows between them.

“You've got an attitude on you tonight,” he says.

“It’s just ‘cos I’ve been drinking,” Harry says. “I'm sorry. I'm happy to see you.”

“No, you aren't,” Angelos says sharply, getting up. “And I know why. But we’ll discuss that later. I want dinner first.”

Anxiety rises in Harry’s throat. Angelos comes over to him and presses an aggressive kiss to his mouth. When Harry goes to pull away, he bites down hard on his lip.

“Ow,” Harry mutters, bringing his hand to his mouth.

“Later,” Angelos tells him, and goes inside.

 

*

 

They talk lightly over dinner on the back patio, while looking out at the ocean. Angelos tells him how his fashion house in New York is doing, what they're looking toward for the fall, what he has in mind for Harry to model for him on the red carpet come the Globes and the Grammys and the Oscars. Harry nods and smiles, offers dry comments, input, or witty repartee, and eats his endive salad.

“ _Cherie_ ,” Angelos says when he finishes, and takes a swig out of the half-empty bottle of 1992 Screaming Eagle cabernet sauvignon that Harry used to make the sangria. It stains his lips. “You took seven thousand dollars of wine and put orange juice and ice cubes in it?”

“Oops,” Harry says drily. “Thought I grabbed the 2014.”

Angelos stares at him, his lips twitching, and then laughs. “Were you even born yet, when this was bottled?”

“No.”

Angelos winks at him and drains the rest of it, then stands, picks up his chair and moves it over to Harry.

Harry stares at him, each and every muscle in his body tensed. 

Angelos runs his hand up Harry’s thigh in a gentle, practiced caress. Harry spreads his legs a bit.

“My man followed your little bandmate today,” Angelos murmurs, looking up at him. “He saw you with him. The boy you slept with in Paris? And who was here at the cottage, a month later? And again about a week ago? And then at a cheap hotel, this morning. What were you doing with him?”

Harry finds he can't speak. His voice sticks in his throat. He moves his legs back together.

“He's not a boy,” he finally says. “He's a grown man. So am I.”

“Aw, but how can you be men if you are in a boyband?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Angelos smiles. “I thought you wanted to be more,” he says. “I thought you wanted to be royalty, to be invited to state dinners. I thought you wanted to change the path of fashion, not chase after it. I thought you wanted a man for a lover, and not a boy.”

“I thought we were  _married_ ,” Harry spits. “I never see you. You don’t treat me nice when I do. You're never nice and romantic anymore, we never talk. I told you I finally wanted to settle down. I thought you wanted a baby. Why can't I get pregnant?”

“Maybe you're barren,” Angelos suggests coldly.

Harry scoffs, stung.

“We can use your sperm and get some nice surrogate pregnant. Then you don't have to ruin your figure.”

Harry’s mouth is so dry, suddenly. “I know why it is. I’m not  _barren_. You had a vasectomy,” he whispers. “Years ago, after you got divorced. Your cousin Phillipa told me.”

Angelos inhales. “When?”

“When she was in town last week. I went with her to a yacht christening. She was drunk.”

“She's an idiot. She shouldn't talk to you about things like that."

“I already knew,” Harry says. “You ignore me when I talk about baby names. You ignore me when I talk about picking a part of the world and actually settling down, or moving to London so I can be near my family. You have your grown kids already, and you're done, aren't you? I knew.”

“We can adopt. You wanted to adopt.”

“You don't want  _any_  babies with me!” Harry cries. “No matter how we get them! I told you I wanted kids! I wanted a life together! I wanted to transition to being monogamous! You said yes, yes, Harry! Anything you want, Harry!”

“You can't really expect all that of me,” Angelos says. “This is the next phase of my life, this is my middle age, alright? It's not my time to change diapers and slow my life down because you are pregnant and I can't take you anywhere. And I thought you would realize that monogamous diaper-changer isn't who you are, either. It's just some idea you have in your head.” He lightly digs his nails into Harry’s thigh, where a rip in his jeans lays it bare. “Case in point, your little friend. Not very monogamous of you, is it? He's handsome. Swarthy. I thought you liked the blondes?”

Harry drags in a choked breath. “Did you just fill my head with this shit so I’d marry you? Am I a trophy to you? You win me and put me on a shelf?”

“Ask yourself who’s lying to who,” Angelos snaps. “Who is not abiding our bargain about no more than once. You married _me_ , a prince, and you're sneaking off to hotels to lie in dirt and bedbugs and other people’s semen while you let this gutter boy from the shittiest part of your shit country fuck you!”

“You're not a real prince, actually,” Harry spits in his face, and knocks his hand away, hard. He gets to his feet and strides off into the house.

 

SANTA MONICA, AUGUST 20, 2024

Liam and Louis come out of the ocean at sunset after a long afternoon of surfing and sit huddled under a towel in their wetsuits, watching the kids cooperate to build a sandcastle on their private stretch of the beach. The sun slowly sinks over the ocean, bathing them in orangey dusk.

“I meant to tell you something the other day,” Liam murmurs.

Mia knocks one of Amir’s additions off of the castle. He complains loudly.

“It's not symmetrical,” she retorts.

“ _Miaaaa…_ ”

Sunday appears to be blithely tuning them out as she packs sand into a bucket.

“Yeah?” Louis says.

“When Zayn came by…” Liam hesitates. “He told me he wanted to talk to you about something in person. Then he backtracked and was like, never mind. Then he said, don't tell Louis I said anything.”

Louis squints at him. “Huh. Weird.”

“Yeah.”

He looks away, out at the ocean, and stays quiet for a few beats. “Maybe you shouldn't’ve told me.”

Liam does a double take. “Really?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno. He's very straight with me. If I need to know, he’ll tell me.”

“So, you're telling me, if Zayn came to me and said he was dying and he needed, I dunno, a knob transplant, and I wasn't allowed to tell you, I shouldn't tell you?”

Louis collapses into Liam's shoulder, laughing. “Sorry,  _what_?”

“I dunno!” Liam says, laughing too. “I couldn't think of an example.”

“Am I donating him my knob, in this scenario? ‘Cos I’d prefer not to, all things being equal.”

“Dad,” Amir calls over to them, looking up the beach. “It's not sticking.”

“You need wet sand, love,” Louis calls.

“But it is wet!”

“Alright alright, hang on,” Louis says, and slips out from under the towel, brushing sand off his thighs. Liam gets up, too, and follows him over.

 

*

 

They have sex right after they put the kids to bed. The beach always makes Louis horny, for some reason.

The master bedroom is nice and romantic, with massive windows opening out onto a balcony and white linen curtains blowing in the salt breeze. They can hear the roar of the black ocean crashing on the dark shore. Louis starts to get sort of loud, a few minutes in; Liam slips two fingers into his mouth.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “You'll wake the whole house…”

Louis rolls his hips and clenches down on Liam, who groans with pleasure. Then he gently bites his fingers.

Liam grins and pulls them out, pressing his palm flat on the bed next to Louis, who looks up at him with half-lidded, glittering blue eyes, his lips parted and red from kissing. He's being moved up and down the bed slightly with every thrust from Liam. “You gonna put a baby in me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Liam breathes. “Yeah.”

He finds himself a bit desperate to. He really wants a more permanent tie to Louis. He’d love to run off and elope with him, put a ring on his finger. But that won't happen, so he works his hips at the tight heat of him with the precision of a watchmaker, wanting so badly to get him pregnant that it's like a constant unsettled weight in his chest, knocking his organs around.

Louis inhales. “You can go a bit harder.”

Liam lays down over him and wraps an arm snugly around him, feeling the heat trapped in his sunburned, sweaty skin. He nuzzles his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis sighs happily and wraps his legs around Liam, arching his back. He's leaking precome; Liam can feel it as Louis’ cock rubs against his belly.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too,” Louis purrs, and kisses him. “And I love your nice cock…”

“My nice cock loves you… and I love  _your_  nice cock…”

“Hmm, maybe you should touch it, then…”

Liam reaches between then and wraps a hand tight around Louis’ shaft, flicking his thumb over his tip. Louis shudders with delight and tips his head back.

 

*

 

Liam squeezes his eyes shut as he rubs in his face wash, moving closer to the sink when Louis comes in and creeps behind him.

He drops the washcloth to see Louis leaning awkwardly over the toilet, one hand teasing his cock out of the slit in his boxers, the other holding a pregnancy test.

Liam rinses off his face, accompanied by the sound of pissing in the background. He starts brushing his teeth and tries not to get himself too worked up over what the result will be.

After a moment, Louis swears quietly and comes over to the sink, nudging him aside. “Sorry. Pissed on my hand a bit, ‘ere.”

Liam laughs and spits out a mouthful of toothpaste. “That’s my posh boy.”

Louis rinses off his fingers and sets the test on the counter. “Hi there,” he says.

Liam glances up into the mirror, smiling at Louis’ reflection. He’s still flushed and mussed from sex earlier.

Louis catches his eye and gives him a smile. “Should know in two minutes.”

“And if it’s a no,” Liam says, “maybe we got it tonight...”

“It’ll happen.”

“I know.”

They go back into the bedroom and climb into bed, snuggling up against each other. Liam claps the lights off and trails his fingers through Louis’ hair, pressing his nose to his hairline.

Two minutes pass in quiet harmony, and then Louis flicks his phone’s flashlight on and holds the pregnancy test up to the beam.

It’s a ClearBlue, so it’s easy to read.  _Not Pregnant._

“Aww,” Liam says aloud, his heart sinking.

Louis tosses it aside. It clatters across the floor. He snuggles against Liam’s chest, and Liam kisses his head.

“It won’t take a year,” Louis promises.

“It’s alright if it does.”

“I really don’t imagine it will.” He pauses. “Um, when you were trying for Sunday…”

Liam shifts on the bed, running his hand up and down Louis’ back. His skin is still so hot to the touch, like he’s feverish.

“It took us few months,” he says.

“When’d you start trying?”

He exhales.

“I’m just asking, love.”

“In late April.”

“Oh,” Louis murmurs. “Okay.”

“I know that sounds rushed."

"Maybe a bit, but..."

“Me and her were in love, we both wanted a family.”

“I know, Liam… I’m not really in any position to judge, am I?”

“I guess not,” Liam says.

Louis tips his head back and gazes up at him, like he’s trying to cut across the sudden distance between them. Liam gazes back at him, studying his delicate features.

“Well, maybe we got it tonight, anyway,” Louis says huskily.

“Maybe.”

 

COLDWATER CANYON, AUGUST 20, 2024

The headlights on Harry’s Jag flood Zayn’s dark driveway as he sits there outside his gate, air conditioning running on full blast, shivering.

He doesn't mean to be crying, but he is. It sort of just spills out of him. Snot, tears, the works. He can't work himself up to buzzing the intercom.

Zayn's mansion looms over him, cold and remote. He might not even be home. He could be at an AA meeting, or maybe he's with the kids, or something? Harry feels like he remembers seeing Louis post an Insta of the kids at the beach.

If he buzzes, if he goes in, he’ll be copping to the hole he's blown in his life. He'll be copping to the fact that this guy who he hadn't seen or spoken to for nearly ten years has become the only real source of comfort he has these days.

He's about to buzz when the gate starts sliding open.

Harry's fingers pause, hanging outside the car, hovering. He wonders if Zayn can see him from a window, or something. He pulls in and parks, gathers himself, then gets out of the car and heads up the stone driveway to the front door.

He's extending his fingers to the doorbell when Taylor Swift opens the door and nearly walks right into him.

Harry jumps like she's a rattlesnake. "Fuck,” he says, vehemently.

“Oh!” Taylor says, drawing back. Her hair is tied up, and she's makeup-free. “Hi?”

Harry is wondering if he's somehow got the wrong house when Zayn wanders into view behind her, scratching his beard. His eyes go large when he spots Harry.

“Yo,” he says. “What's up?”

“I...” Harry glances between them. “I need to talk to you,” he says to Zayn, pointedly.

Zayn nods.

“Are you okay?” Taylor says, studying him.

“I'm fine,” Harry mutters.

“You're crying.”

Harry meets her eyes. “Allergies,” he says wryly, and sniffs.

She chuckles.

“Taylor, I'll walk you out,” Zayn says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

So he had opened the gate for her, then. For some childish reason, Harry finds this disappointing. He steps out of their way.

“Go ahead in,” Zayn says over his shoulder as they go past.

Taylor casts a searching look back at him before she heads off into the blue night. Harry waits for her to turn, then ducks into the entry hall, wiping his tears away.

He wanders until he finds a sitting room, which is done in dark shades, sort of reminiscent of a recording studio, with a lot of dark gray walls and mahogany floors and accents. Harry sits down on a sectional, staring into the dark and empty fireplace across from him. He wraps his arms around himself.

Zayn finds him a minute later. He lingers in the doorway, then comes to sit beside him.

Harry presses his tongue to the backs of his teeth. Pressure builds in him until he can't stand it, and he wrenches his wedding ring off his finger and flings it onto the rug below.

“Alright?” Zayn says.

“Why was she here?” Harry says hoarsely. Jealous suspicion pulses in his chest, and “Something going on with you two?” tumbles out of him.

Zayn has a good laugh at this. “No, no… me and her? Not quite my type, mate. No offense.”

“So…”

“We’re working on something together, is all. Writing session went late.” He pauses. “Can I get you something? Haven't got alcohol, sorry. Got, like, mineral water, mostly. Uhhh… got some medicinal weed, if you're into that.”

Harry sniffs again. “Maybe some water? I had a lot of wine tonight.”

Zayn squeezes his shoulder and leaves the room. Harry stares at his ring glowing on the carpet. His head is heavy and buzzing.

He doesn't feel like any time at all has passed before Zayn is sitting next to him again and pushing a Fiji bottle into his hands.

Harry twists the cap off and drinks for a while. He sets it down on the floor between his feet, then inhales.

“What ‘appened?” Zayn says, his dark eyes flicking over Harry’s face. “Did he do something?”

“No,” Harry says wearily. “I mean… sort of. We fought. About you.”

He inhales. “Shit.”

“He knows about this morning.”

“Jesus.”

“So I waited ‘til he fell asleep and I snuck out.”

Zayn rubs his back and doesn't say anything for a while. Finally: “Are you leaving him?”

“I can't — I can't think about that right now.”

He hesitates, then leans his head against Zayn's chest. Zayn in turn leans back against the couch cushion, bringing Harry with him, cradling him.

“Is this allowed,” Harry says, tensing up.

“What?”

“Didn't know if we were just fucking or what.”

Zayn snorts. “Harold…”

“I don't know!”

“Look, I'm not the one who's married, alright? C’mere.”

Harry shimmies down on the couch and lays his head on Zayn’s lap. Zayn starts to stroke his hair, running his fingers along Harry’s scalp. Tears cloud Harry’s vision again.

“Your lap sucks,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Bony arse...”

Zayn shakes with laughter. “Beggars can't be choosers.”

They're quiet for a while.

“I confronted him,” Harry says. “About how he lied about having a vasectomy… about how he's never around… how he treats me. He threw you in my face. Admitted to me he's been having you followed. Called you gutter trash.”

“Damn,” Zayn says, sounding amused. “I'll try not to take that personally.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

He shrugs. “I’m not all that afraid of him. More worried about you.”

Harry swallows. He gets the feeling Zayn is hedging a bit. 

“You can sleep here tonight,” Zayn says. “If you want. We don't have to do anythin’. You can take the guest room, or sleep in my bed, w’ever...”

“You're being too nice to me,” he says, heartsick.

Zayn says nothing, just keeps stroking his hair.

 

*

 

They don't have sex after all, but Harry does sleep in his bed with him. He undresses in the toilet, washes his face and moisturizes with Zayn’s products, then comes out in his briefs.

Zayn is already in the middle of his big circular bed, perched against the dark pillows and reading a book. “Hey,” he says, without looking up.

Harry slinks over and crawls into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over his waist. “Hi.”

“You smell good,” Zayn mutters, taking his glasses off and putting them away.

“I used your cologne, sorry. I was all sweaty.”

“Smells good on you.”

Harry is quiet. The light in the bedroom is warm and sort of gauzy; it reminds him of sitting next to his mum at her vanity mirror, watching her get ready to go out.

“Thanks,” he says. “For all this.”

“I really don't like that guy,” Zayn says. “I know… Look, I, ah, I wasn't the best husband, when I was married. I'm not, like, pretending I can get on some high horse. But your boy is on another level. He’s controlling, he bullies you. He lies to you all the time.”

“I know,” Harry says. His mouth is dry again. “You're not telling me anything I don't know.”

“Alright…”

“In his defense, I am having an affair. So.”

“This started before that,” Zayn says. “You don't remember how you came up to me in Paris, drunk and sad? And we went backstage, and we had sex, and you got even drunker, and you were all weepy, like, I dunno what I did, but since we got married my husband don't love me anymore?”

Harry inhales sharply. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Just one question,” Zayn says. “You in love with him?”

“I thought I was.”

“And now?”

“I dunno.”

“Your wedding ring’s on my rug,” Zayn points out, looking over at him.

Harry shrugs sort of helplessly. “Taking it one day at a time.”

“Is it ‘cos you don't want to give up being royalty? Having his royal babies?”

“Fuck off,” Harry snaps, anger flaring in his chest and heating his face. “That's not why I married him.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “but it's not  _not_  why.”

“I can't have his babies, anyway. So.”

“It's alright if you like it. I think anyone’d like it. His Royal Highness Prince Harry...”

“I'm not styled HRH,” he mutters. “He is. I'm just a prince.”

Zayn laughs. “I'm fuckin’ joking with you.”

Harry laughs, too. “I know.”

 

SANTA MONICA, AUGUST 21, 2024

Amir and Sunday come down to the kitchen early for Liam’s pancakes, sitting in companionable silence as they always do, but Mia is nowhere to be seen. Louis finishes his coffee and heads upstairs, a bit worried.

Her bedroom door is open, and so is the door that goes from her room to the deck staircase; he peeks out the window and sees she's sitting on the beach. A tiny dark-haired figure amongst the beige.

Louis traipses down the stairs in his sock feet and walks out over the sand to her. It's a lovely day. The sky is full of billowing, Monet-like clouds, and the ocean is choppy, with whitecaps and leaping dolphins.

“Hey,” Louis says, and settles down beside her. She looks over in surprise. “Mind a bit of company?”

“Sure,” Mia says. She's hugging her knees to her chest, and her inky hair is blowing around her face. He reaches up and tucks a piece behind her ear.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just kind of don't want to leave.”

Louis clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She shrugs.

“Why’d you say you didn’t want to spend next week with your dad?”

Mia looks back out at the ocean, her face shifting. “I dunno.”

He waits.

“I guess just… I don't know. I didn't like Natalie. I know they broke up, but I never like anyone he dates. And I don't know why he has to date all these random people.”

“Oh, lovey…”

Mia shrugs.

“Your dad’s just figuring things out,” Louis says. “But he doesn't bring anyone around you kids unless he’s been seeing them a while, and he's cleared it with me.”

“Whatever."

“Why didn't you like Natalie?”

“She was so fake, she had a fake nose and a fake butt.”

Louis laughs. “I'm neither gonna confirm nor deny that.”

A breeze whips past them, and Mia shivers. Louis pulls his hoodie off over his head and hands it to her.

“I'm fine.”

“Humor your dad and put it on.”

Mia does, rolling her eyes. The sleeves swallow up her arms entirely. “I just hate that he always has some  _new_  person. And I always have to get used to them, and then they're gone. And then he acts all weird and sad.”

“I understand.”

“It's like…” She shakes her head. “Why did he leave, if he’s just going to do that?”

“What d’you mean?”

“He left! He left and divorced you so he could date people with fake butts!”

Louis’ heart jerks in his chest. He looks down at his hands in his lap, running his thumb along his other palm. “Sweetheart? That's not what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks up at her inquisitive little face, at his own eyes squinting back at him.

“Your dad didn't leave us,” Louis says. “It was my idea to get a divorce. I really, really need you to not blame him for that.”

Mia’s mouth falls open. “But I always thought it was his fault.”

“It was both our faults, Mims.”

“But you made him get a divorce? You sent him away. You made him leave.”

“Listen —”

“ _Why_?” she cries.

“It's complicated adult stuff. It's stuff you don't need to worry about. Just trust me that we’re all better off this way.”

“Why did we stay with you, then? If you wanted a divorce? Why did Dad have to leave and go away?”

“Because your dad had more work responsibilities than me, and he was going through some things at the time, and besides that — I was more involved with you guys when you were little. I took you to school. I took you to the doctor’s. I sat up with you when you were sick. I gave birth to you. It would have been a harder deal for both of you if I had been the one to leave the house, alright?”

Mia seems to barely process this before she steamrolls ahead. “Did you get a divorce so you could date Liam?”

Louis rubs at his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why?”

“Honey,” he says, working his absolute hardest not to sound frustrated, “I really can't talk to you about that. You're too young. All you need to know is that your dad and I love each other, and we love you and Amir more than anythin’, but our marriage didn't work, and we're both happier now. Alright?”

“Happier dating Liam! And girls with fake butts!”

“What's with you and the fake butt thing?”

“It's just so weird.”

“Are you upset that we moved in with Liam?”

“No, I like it,” she says. Louis wraps an arm around her shoulders. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I like Liam, and I like Sunday. I like how we all act like a family. I sometimes like it better, being with you guys instead of Dad, just because of that… it’s sad when it’s the three of us plus some random person he’s dating, it feels like, not right. And I always felt like Natalie was just waiting for me and Amir to leave so she could be alone with Dad.”

“Oh, sweets…”

“I just miss being a family with Dad… like, the four of us. And also, I don’t like that Sunday spends longer with you than we do.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I don’t like that either.”

“I like it so much when he's not dating anyone, and he has time so the four of can us hang out and do stuff, like go out on the boat or go skiing or whatever.” She pauses, then shyly adds: “I kind of wish this holiday was that.”

“We can do that more often,” Louis assures her. “I'll talk to him about it… we can absolutely do trips like that more often.”

“But like, I don't want to make you leave Liam to go on holiday with Dad.”

“No, no! You know I like hanging out with your dad, me and him are old friends. And me and Liam don't mind a day apart, here and there. We're professionals at driving each other up the wall.”

“You  _lo-ove_  him, though,” Mia says, rolling her eyes.

“I do.” Louis rubs at her shoulder. “Can I tell you a little secret? Don't tell your brother or Sunday just yet.”

Mia looks up at him and sniffles. “What is it?”

“Me and Liam, um… we’re trying to have a baby. In the next year or so, if we can manage it.”

“A  _baby_?”

“A baby,” he says, smiling. “Little sibling for you lot.”

“Shit, Dad!”

“Don't swear, please.”

“A baby? Like an actual baby?”

“Actual baby,” Louis says. “Real live baby. It's not a sure thing, though, so don't get too excited.”

“Is it a girl? If it's not a girl, I’m gonna kick you.”

“I'm not even pregnant yet, so please save the kicking.”

Mia shakes her head and looks back out at the ocean. “You're serious?”

“Yeah, I'm serious.”

She grins wickedly. “And only you and me know?”

“Well, and Liam, but yeah.”

“So it's my secret with you guys. ‘Cos I'm the grown-up one. I'm on team grown-up.”

He laughs. “Sure, love.”

“And it'll be younger than Amir,” she says, with a sort of sinister look on her face, “so it's easier to boss around. And then me and Sunday will be related!”

“No, love, you won't be.”

“Yeah, we will! We’ll have the same sister!”

“Right. But you and Sunday won't become, like, blood-related.”

“Aww…”

He taps his chest. “You can be related in here.”

“I  _guess_.”

“You're not upset, then?”

She shakes her head. “Can you have a girl, though? And not a girly-girl, please. Can you make her like soccer?”

“Unfortunately, that's the kind of thing I've got no control over. Obviously, you and I are gonna do our best to bully this baby into liking football. But you saw how well that worked with your brother.”

“He's a weenie,” Mia says fondly.

“He’s musical, at least.”

“Yeah, a musical weenie.”

Louis laughs again and kisses her on the head.

 

COLDWATER CANYON, AUGUST 21, 2024

Angelos calls early that morning. Harry wriggles out of Zayn’s sleepy grasp and picks up the phone before it can wake him. He opens the door to Zayn’s walk-in closet, thinking it's the bathroom, then shuts it behind him and flips the light on.

“Hullo?” he says.

“Hi, darling,” Angelos replies.

Harry stares down the endless bright displays of clothes, the suits kept on mannequins, the jackets and the jewelry and the watches. He wanders, touching things as he goes. Zayn’s taste has matured a lot since 2015.

“Hello?” Angelos says. “You there?”

“I'm here,” Harry says. “Why’d you call?”

“I wanted to apologize for all the unpleasantness last night. I bought you something.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “What is it?”

“Something from Piaget you've had your eye on.”

“Alright. Thank you. Anything else?”

“Yes. Stephanie and her boyfriend would like to have dinner with us in Manhattan tomorrow.”

“I don't think Stephanie likes me,” Harry murmurs. Princess Stephanie is his step-daughter, who's either seven or eight years younger than he is. He can never quite remember.

“That's not true,” Angelos says. “She's always perfectly cordial to you.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less, she's very poised. But she's not exactly warm.”

“Who needs warmth? What are you, an Italian? I thought I married a Brit. Stiff upper lip. She likes you just fine, it's just she's close with her lunatic mother, who despises you. She calls you the boyband whore.”

“How friendly.”

“Well, as I said, she's a lunatic. When I left her she became very unpleasant. Anyway, I know you ran off to your little friend again last night. I assume you're still there?”

“Yes,” he says, reluctantly.

“That's becoming an awfully bad habit, darling. But I think I have a solution.” He sounds very pleased with himself about whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll get my vasectomy reversed, okay? I’ll give you a baby. And in return, you will never see gutter boy again.”

“Don't call him that.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Harry swallows. He aches on the inside, all over. “I have to think about it.”

“Alright. Think about it on the flight. But come back quickly and pack, we leave this afternoon.”

Harry agrees to this and hangs up with him, holding his phone to his chest.

 

*

 

He says a very quick goodbye to Zayn without any specifics — Zayn tries to pry, but Harry has to get out of there, because the longer he's around him the more difficult it is to remember that he's married. So he's very nonspecific and sort of curt, which makes Zayn be curt in return, and Harry feels like termites are gnawing at his heart and gut.

When Zayn isn't looking, he fetches his wedding ring from the sitting room rug and slips it back on.

Angelos has sent a driver to take him back to the cottage, like he can't be trusted, or he's too stupid to drive his own car. But he takes the opportunity to roll up the partition, curl up in the back seat, and ring Liam.

Liam picks up after a few rings. “No, no, no more pancakes! You're gonna explode! And I'm a man, not a pancake machine! Hey, Harry, how are you — yeah, I'll tell him, but I'm gonna take this outside, okay?”

Harry sits there smiling, endeared by the chaos he can hear in the background. He hears a door slide shut, and then Liam exhales. “Hey,” he says. “Louis says hi.”

“Tell him hi back.”

“Will do. Wassup?”

“Um… nothing. This is sort of a dumb call. But I have to have dinner with Angelos, his daughter and her boyfriend, tomorrow."

Liam laughs. “Oh, blue-blood freeze-out time.”

“Yeah, exactly... I just wanted to like — I haven't seen her since the wedding, and she made all these snide comments. I’m expecting it’ll be even worse, now."

"Right, right."

"What did you used to do, with Cecilia's parents?"

“Uhh, cyanide capsule in the back molar? Fantasizing about shooting myself at the dinner table?”

Harry laughs. “Anything less drastic?”

“Ahh, y’know… you just can't let it get to you. You're even better at that than me. Just pretend like it's a rocky interview. Compartmentalize.”

“It's just that's a bit harder when I can't be, you know, public me _,_ ” Harry murmurs, resting his head against the cool window. “These people are royalty, they think in millenniums, they don't care about public me, and they don’t like private me. I might as well be Meghan Markle.”

“Just take deep breaths,” Liam says. “Take a Xanax and pretend you're somewhere else."

He laughs again. "Reckon I might have to."

“Is everything else okay?”

The Jag rolls onto the 101. Harry stares out the window at the valley sprawled out below him. He’s quiet for a long time before he answers.

“No,” he says. “Things aren't good with me and Angelos.”

“I'm sorry, man.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“If you ever need to crash somewhere, get your head on straight… we’re here.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, mate.”

 

CALABASAS, AUGUST 22, 2024

Zayn mulls on Harry all through his drive to Louis’, gnawing at his lip, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He wants to smoke, but he’s about to pick the kids up, so he stops himself.

When he pulls up the circular drive in front of their place, he sits for a moment and gathers his thoughts.

Mia answers the front door, then bends to lace up her cleats; Amir rushes out from behind her, chattering animatedly to Zayn about something having to do with school. He tries to tug Zayn along to the car, but Zayn wrangles him by the shoulders and squeezes him. “Wait a sec for your sister.”

“Sorry,” Mia says.

“It's alright. So… how d’you two feel about going to the Getty tonight? I've got to put in an appearance at a cocktail hour in the lobby, an’ the rest of the museum’s closed during it. So I worked it out with them that if I pop in at the beginning, they'll let us into the museum alone, and we can just go and explore without anybody else being there. They've got some really cool shit right now.”

“Alone?” Amir says. “At night? Awesome.”

“Yeah, that sounds cool,” Mia says, and she straightens up, then reaches her arms out to Zayn for a hug.

Zayn bends and wraps his arms around her, a bit confused, but pleased. He thought the kids were past their huggy days.

“I love you, Daddy,” she murmurs in his ear, sounding younger than her years.

“Aww, Yas... I love you too… where's this coming from?”

He draws back a bit and strokes her hair back off her forehead. She shrugs and smiles at him.

“Are you okay?” she says.

Zayn gives her a smile. “I'm absolutely fine, lovey. Why d’you ask?”

“No reason.”

Zayn helps her get her backpack on, then takes them both by the hands and leads them to the car. “What’s for dinner tonight? I've got like, nothin’ at the house, sorry.”

“Del Taco!” they chorus.

“Sounds about right.”

 

CALABASAS, SEPTEMBER 10, 2024

Liam squints at himself in the full-length mirror by the dresser, thinks better the shirt he's wearing and pulls it off over his head.

Louis is chattering away in the bathroom. Liam has been tuning in and out, but his attention is grabbed by Zayn’s name.

“— been acting weird lately, I mean you know how he is, but he seems sad or something? And when we all went out to lunch the other day, he was proper distracted and kept checking his phone. I keep wondering what that thing was that he was gonna tell you, but I can't ask, obviously, so I wish you hadn't even told me, you know I’m shit at keeping my mouth shut —” Louis comes out of the bathroom in a black t-shirt, his hair smoothed back and his beard neatly trimmed. “Why are you getting dressed?”

“I was gonna take you to the airport.”

Louis laughs. “Who’s gonna stay with the kids, silly?”

“Well, I was gonna take ‘em along. We could wave bye to you at security.” Liam puts another shirt on and starts buttoning it up.

“Ahh, don't worry about it, I'm running late anyway.” Louis comes over and leans up to kiss him on the cheek; Liam snatches him around the waist and presses a kiss to his lips. “X Factor tapes Friday, I’ll fly out Saturday afternoon, I think? I have a breakfast meeting early Saturday.”

“Is the baby thing gonna be okay?” Liam says, drawing back to study him. “With you launching and everything?”

“Well, it ain't a real management company ‘til I've got somebody to manage,” Louis says. “So I'll just hold off on the clients part for a year or so, at least. Year and a half, maybe? ‘Cos, speaking of which, I just took another test, and no dice.”

Liam sighs. “Shit.”

“It's okay, we've just barely started trying.”

“I know. You've been taking the B6, right?”

Louis shimmies out of his arms and goes over to the bureau to slip a watch onto his wrist. “Enough with all that, alright? It's baby-making, it's not rocket science. It'll happen when it happens.”

“I just wanna jump on this good timing we've got here,” Liam says.

“Payno…” Louis looks up at him with a tender expression.

“We've had such shit timing in the past, you and me.”

He inhales. “So this is about Zayn?”

“No!”

“‘Cos I don't want you to feel insecure. I'm all in on our relationship, mate. You don't need to put a baby in me to win me, you've already got me.”

“I don't think that, I don't — I just want this really badly.”

“I do too!” Louis exclaims. “It’s just you get like, this intense face, and, y’know — I'm not a fuckin’ chicken, I can't just lay eggs on demand, here.”

“Noo, love, I don't think you are. I'm sorry.”

Louis smiles at him. “It's alright. Come walk me out, yeah? Can you get one of me suitcases?” He indicates the LV duffle sitting by the bathroom.

“Yeah, sure.”

 

*

 

Liam sits on a haybale reading his phone as he waits for Sunday to tack up her horse. Mia sits on the one next to him, her thumbs flying as she texts her friends in their group chat.

“Liam-look-at-this-meme,” she says, all as one word, and shoves her phone in his face.

Liam squints at the screen. It's a low-res screencap of someone he recognizes as having been a Vine personality eight years ago, surrounded by an incomprehensible wall of slang and emojis. “Uhh —”

“D’you get it?”

“No, I can't say I do.”

“It's okay,” she says gently, “you're old,” and returns to texting.

Amir comes back into from wherever he had wandered off to, his dark hair catching the sunlight in a brief halo as he moves from the sunny outdoors into the dimly-light barn aisle. He has his hands clutched around something, and he's got a little smirk on. Liam eyes him.

Amir walks up behind Sunday, who turns, her ponytail swinging under her hard hat. He opens his palm and shows it to her.

“Ahh!” she says, pushing his hand away. “Gross!”

“It's just a  _lizard_ ,” Amir drawls. “It's cute. You like cute stuff.”

“Lizards aren't  _cute_!”

Sunday’s horse paws at the ground. She snaps her fingers at him.

“Lemme see,” Mia says.

Amir brings the lizard over. Liam peers at it. It is kind of cute.

“Is it dead?” Mia says. “It's not moving.”

“Nah,” Amir says. “It just trusts me.”

“That's fucking weird.”

“Hey, no swearing,” Liam says. “Sunday, you need your saddle?”

“Yes please.”

Amir releases the lizard onto the hay bale next to Mia. She shrinks away slightly as it skitters past her.

“I want a pet lizard,” Amir says wistfully.

“Your dad’s been talking about getting you one for Christmas,” Liam says, getting to his feet. “But you didn't hear that from me.”

His eyes light up. “Sick!”

“Lizards smell,” Sunday complains.

“Your horse smells,” Amir shoots back.

“He does not! He smells good! And he doesn't live in the house with us.”

“The lizard’s gonna live in my room, so don't come in my room if you don't like it.”

Liam tunes out their bickering as he heads into the tack room.

 

PARIS, SEPTEMBER 11, 2024

Harry waits for Angelos to get in the shower (he always showers after sex, and he always showers for at least half an hour) then heads out to the balcony. The sun is setting over the Seine. He perches on a chair that looks out on the lush treetops below, and dials Zayn.

He doesn't get him at first, and starts dialing again, but Zayn rings him back. Harry accidentally hangs up, and then they try to call each other back at the same time and get their wires crossed. When they finally do get each other, Zayn laughs and says, “You good, or you want to hang up on me a few more times?”

“Sorry!” Harry exclaims. “I'm jet-lagged... I didn't wake you, did I?”

“Nah, I’m usually up by eight these days. Where you at?”

“I'm just in Paris,” Harry says. “Angelos wanted to take a little trip before I start rehearsals next week. I’m having lunch with Emmanuelle and Alexa… picking up some furniture…”

Zayn doesn't respond, which makes him nervous. Finally, he says, “Why’d you call?”

“I, uh.” Harry draws in a deep breath on a count of five, then lets it out. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

More silence.

“It's not right,” Harry says. “It’s not fair to you, either. I’m married. I want to try and make that work. And, um...” He pauses to steel himself. “Maybe there was a time, years ago, when I thought you and I would get back together. I wanted that so badly. I wanted what we had when we were young, before everything got fucked up. But you married Louis, and you had a family, so I forgot about you. And I accepted that I didn't even know who you were, anymore. And all I thought of you as was a competitor, and somebody I knew once. Maybe it's better to keep thinking of you that way. Not to dig all this up…”

He’s choked up, then, and can barely speak, so he just stops.

“You really want that?” Zayn says hoarsely. “You really want us to go back to acting like strangers? We've never been strangers.”

Harry lets out a sharp breath. “I know.”

“And I tried to forget you, too. Obviously it didn't work.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Harry. You don't love him.”

“I know I don't,” Harry says. A butterfly lands on the stone railing in front of him, and he wants to laugh; he's in the loveliest city in the world in late summer, sitting half a mile from the Eiffel tower while butterflies land at his feet, and he's absolutely miserable. His chest feels like it's made of rigid steel. “But I married him.”

“You can leave him. Fuck him.”

“Leave him for what? To be with you?”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“No, it is, right?”

“I'm different, now,” Zayn says, his voice soft. “I'm not the stupid teenager you think you know. I'm grown.”

“I’m aware of that. I'm grown too. I've  _been_  grown. I  _had_  to grow up.”

“You think I didn't ‘ave to grow up? You think you're the only one who had big things pushed on them? We were both in that band! I had to be a dad at twenty-two, I had to be a husband, I've got two kids, I was the first to go solo —”

“Your choice.”

“Yeah, well, fuckin’ whatever.”

“I’m thirty years old. I've never made it work with anyone, yet. I want to settle down. I want what you've already got, I want a family. I've always wanted kids.” His voice cracks. “I want love, like, real love. Unconditional. I want a baby.”

“Hey,” Zayn says sharply. “Newsflash, dumbarse. What you and me have is real. I knew you before any of this shit. I see you.”

“But what if we don't work? And what if you don't stick around?”

“That ain't fair to say! Why wouldn't I?”

“I can't just leave him.”

“No? ‘Cos the other day, you were acting like it was over.”

“He's trying to make it up to me. He's been sweet to me, he's going to get his vasectomy reversed —”

“Oh, bullshit! He’s working you over! He’s buying you off so you'll stay! ‘E's not gonna change! You're really gonna bring a baby into that mess?”

“It’s been a fling, you and me,” Harry says with difficulty, ignoring him. His jaw is so tight. “It was a fling. It was nice. I’d missed you. But that's all it was.”

“Oh, fuckin’ rubbish, no it wasn't. You didn't come crying to my house the other week because I'm just a fling. You didn't come up to me in Paris ‘cos you wanted a fling. It's more than that between us, it always has been.”

“I can't do this,” Harry says, working extremely hard to keep his voice even. “I can't. It's not fair to either of us...”

“What isn't fair?” Zayn cries. “You ‘ad years to find me an’ reconnect!  _Years_  after Louis! You decided to do it a month after you fuckin’ get married? ‘Ow’s that fair to me, huh?”

“I'm sorry,” Harry says, taking another deep breath. Tears prick at the backs of his eyes. “I'm so, so sorry. I just — look, I shouldn't’ve done this to you in the first place. I shouldnt’ve dragged you into this…”

“Harry —”

“Goodbye,” he murmurs, then hangs up and puts his phone in airplane mode.

The air has gone still around him, and the sun glitters as it dips below the Seine. The butterfly is gone. Harry gets to his feet, his back straight and his chin up, and heads back into the hotel room.

 

CALABASAS, SEPTEMBER 12, 2024

Liam picks up Sunday and Amir from school, and they tell him that Mia doesn't need a ride because she went off with her pack of friends — all the other buoyantly popular third grade girls that she pals around with — escorted by one of their au pairs. So he checks in with her by text to make sure, then takes them home and settles into the home recording studio to fiddle with some tracks, not expecting Mia back for at least a couple hours. He certainly doesn't expect her home in thirty minutes with a bloody nose.

But then the doorbell rings, and there she is on the front stoop, sniffing. Her hair’s a complete mess.

“I forgot my key,” she says.

“Mia!” Liam pulls her inside, worry rising in his chest. “What happened, what's going on?”

“It's not a big deal,” she says. “Don't freak out.”

“C’mere,” Liam says, and shepherds her upstairs, into a guest bathroom — the one that's decorated with nautical details and sports a small porthole window high on the wall.

He takes a wet washcloth and mops up her bloody upper lip with it. She squints with displeasure. “Ow.”

“Did you fall, or something?” Liam says.

“No,” Mia murmurs. “I got in a fight.”

“ _What_? With who?”

She gets a defiant glint in her eye, and her mouth becomes a Zayn-like flat line. “None of your beeswax.”

“Mia, come on. You know I have to tell your dad about this, and he's going to ask, too, and he's not going to take no for an answer.”

“You don't have to tell him!” she cries.

“Yeah, I do!”

“If I tell you, will you promise not to?”

“I can't make that promise,” Liam tells her.

Mia sighs. “Will you think about it?”

“Yeah, sure. Now tell me, please?” He hands her two little twirls of toilet paper. “Put these in your nose… gently.”

Mia complies. “There's these girls in Sunday’s class,” she says, nasally. “Maddie’s the worst one. She's a complete biatch.”

“Don't swear.”

She rolls her eyes. “Liam, I'm trying to tell a story.”

“Go ahead.”

“Anyway…” Mia hesitates. “I feel like I shouldn't tell you this. She wouldn't want you to know.”

Liam's heart sinks. “Who? Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“What's been going on?”

“Okay, lemme just say, they're mean girls,” Mia says. “They're only popular because Maddie is like, crazy rich. Like she makes us look like poor people. I think her dad made Google or something. Anyway, the only reason people let her get away with being such an asshole —“

“ _Mia_  —“

“Sorry! God. But it’s because they want her to invite them over for birthday parties and stuff. She has like, a trampoline park in her house. And a bowling alley.”

“Alright…”

“Can we get a bowling alley?”

He laughs. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fine. So Maddie and her friends decided they don't like Sunday,” Mia says. “Because she's quiet, and they think she's stuck-up, or whatever?”

Liam closes his eyes and inhales. “She hasn't said anything to me.”

“I know. She doesn't want you to worry. She says you worry too much about her already.”

“Christ…” His rubs his hand over his face.

“So, they’ve been messing with her.” Mia studies his face as this sinks in. “Sorry, should I not have told you?”

“No, no,” Liam assures her. “No, thank you for telling me, love. I appreciate it.”

“Anyway,” Mia says, “Maddie and her friends hang out at the same park as me and my friends after school, sometimes. So we saw her, and Sunday had just told me about something she did at lunch, so we came over like, hey Maddie, what's your problem? I mean, my friends all really like Sunday. But for Maddie, she's an easy target. No offense.”

She scratches at her nose, then winces.

“Let me get you some medicine.” He stands and rummages in the medicine cabinet for the kid’s Motrin, then pours water into a little cup and hands both to her. She swallows them gamely. He kneels in front of her again.

“So, Maddie's like, what problem? And she's acting innocent because she doesn't want trouble with us, ‘cos we're older. And I walked up to her and I was like, you better leave my stepsister alone, is all I'm saying.”

Liam smiles, his heart warmed by the use of stepsister.

“And she was like, leave  _me_  alone, weirdo, and we were like, sorry, who's the weirdo, you little second grade weirdo? Like, who does she think she is? And we all went over there, and I got in her face, and she shoved me, and I shoved her back, and we got in a fight. She didn't hit me in the nose, though. When we were fighting we fell, and I hit my face on the picnic table. And then Corinne’s au pair came over and pulled us apart, and she took us all home.”

“Oh, Mims…”

“Look, I didn't want to tell you,” Mia says. “But you extortionated me.”

“You shouldn't be getting in fights. Especially with younger kids.”

“She’s eight, too! And she's bigger than I am!”

“You know, you don't have to protect Sunday,” he says, gently. “That isn't your job.”

Mia seems puzzled by the very suggestion. “Yeah, it is.”

Warm fondness rises in Liam’s chest. He smiles at her, and she looks back at him with uncertainty. “Are you mad?”

Liam takes a seat on the closed toilet, reaches for a brush on the sink and motions for her to turn around. She does, and he starts combing the tangles out of her hair.

“Nah,” he says. “I'm not mad.”

“Cool.”

“You’re like your dad, you know.”

“Louis?”

“Yeah, Louis.”

“You mean that in a good way?”

“I do.”

“Good,” she says, sounding pleased. “You won't tell him then, right?”

“I really have to.”

“No, please, ‘cos he'll make a big deal out of it, and like, try to talk to my teacher about it, and I don't want it to be this big thing.”

“You're hurt, Mia. I have to tell your dad.”

“I thought you'd be cool!”

“I'll tell him what you just told me, and it'll be fine.”

Mia turns to him. “Don't say anything to Sunday, at least,” she begs. “I don't want her to know.”

“Is she okay, otherwise?” Liam says. “Like, is it just these girls giving her a hard time?”

Mia nods. “It’s just them. Her problem is she's quiet,” she says. “I mean, so is Amir, but it's easier for boys, I think.”

“Sometimes,” Liam says. “But thank you for telling me about all this.”

“Sure. Can I go play video games?” she says.

He squeezes her shoulder. “Yeah, go ahead.”

 

*

 

Liam hovers in Sunday’s doorway, watching her at her desk, doing something on her laptop. Her room is done in shades of pink and gold; a lot like Mia’s, except hers is lavender and gold.

After a while, he clears his throat. She looks up, slipping her earbuds out of her ears.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says.

“Hi,” Sunday says.

“You busy?”

She shakes her head. “I'm just watching YouTube.”

Liam runs his knuckles up and down the doorway. “I wanted to check on you… make sure everything's going okay.”

She squints at him. “Yeah, everything's fine, Daddy, why?”

Liam swallows over the lump in his throat. “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You know you can come to me about anything, always?”

“I do,” Sunday says. “What's going on?”

“Nothing, love.”

“Why are you acting weird? You’re acting like you do when I fall off.”

Liam laughs. “Sorry...”

Sunday searches him with her dark eyes.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me,” he says. “I’m here. Even if you just want to talk.”

She gets a complicated look, then; he can tell she wants to confess to him, but her pride wins out. 

“I’m fine,” Sunday says. “Please don’t look so worried.”

”I‘m not worried,” he lies. “I promise.”

“Okay… anyway, what are you making for dinner?”

Liam clears his throat. “I dunno. I have to check what we have.”

“Please not fish again?”

“Well, if we've  _got_  fish, I have to make it…”

She groans.

 

LONDON, SEPTEMBER 14, 2024

Niall rings Louis just as he's getting ready to check out of the hotel; he pauses, slips his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and mutes BBC Sport where it’s playing on the big TV across from the bed.

“Oi!” he says into the phone. “Wassup?”

“Wassaaaaaap,” Niall exclaims.

“ _Wassaaaaaaaap…_ ”

“Right, that's about enough of that.”

Louis laughs. “Why you calling? You in London? Want to get lunch with me at Heathrow?”

“No, I’m in Los Angeles! It's like six in the damn mornin’… I wanted to come hang out with you all, but I just talked to Payno and he said you're in London.”

“Yeah, I was filming for X Factor! Filling in for Mel.”

“Well, that's great for you, but too bad for me, ‘cos I fly out to Oz in a couple hours.”

“Oh nooo! Well, go over to our place and hang with Liam if you like, mate. But Zayn’s got my kids today, anyway.”

“I know, he told me that too, I'm batting zero. It's alright, I'll catch you all some other time, we’ll be back out your way soon. Winn loves Los Angeles.”

“How is the missus, by the way?”

“Great! Really great. Coming with me to Australia, we're gonna hike part o’ the Larapinta, do a bit of camping.”

“Look at our mountain man,” Louis says fondly. “That sounds fun, tell her hullo for me.”

“Will do, lad. So what's going on with you and lima bean?” Niall says. “Any updates? He got another call before he could tell me much.”

“Well,” Louis says. “I was gonna tell you, actually. We’ve been trying to have a baby.”

“Ahhhhhh!” he cheers. “No way! I love it!”

Louis grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! You pregnant, then?”

“No, not yet… Well, maybe. I dunno. I need to check again, but nothing so far.”

“Ah, you'll get it,” Niall says.

“Yeah, I know. I'm really not worried. I mean, with Zayn, I’d get pregnant just from him looking at me funny. Liam's been 'aving kittens, though. He's like, put your legs in the air! Take a vitamin! Don't take hot baths! Don't eat tomatoes!”

“Don't eat  _tomatoes_?”

“He says he read somewhere tomatoes aren't good for you when you're trying to get pregnant, ‘cos they're too alkaline, or they're an irritant, or summat —”

“That sounds like insane pseudoscience,” Niall says. “I can almost guarantee you that's not real.”

“Tell it to Payno.”

“Oh, you know how he is.”

“I do.” He wonders guiltily, then, if his admission about the miscarriage might have planted seeds of anxiety in Liam's brain. “Listen, I've got to run, but have fun in Australia, send pictures.”

“Will do! Laters."

“Bye, lad."

Louis hangs up with him and stands there, squinting into middle distance, thinking. Then he bends down to dig through his carry-on, grabs a pregnancy test, and goes into the bathroom.

 

LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, SEPTEMBER 14, 2024

Liam leans against the car as he waits for Louis, gazing through the glass of automatic doors into the airport hallway, waiting for him to appear under the fluorescents.

He finally does at around 1:30 a.m., flanked by security and dragging a rolling suitcase behind him. There's a few flashes of light from a gaggle of people near the doors, but they're small pops, like fans with phones and not professional paps.

The doors slide open and he appears, dressed in sweats and floppy-haired. He grins when he sees Liam.

Liam grins back.

Louis comes across the little footbridge to the top of the parking deck, the wheels on his suitcase echoing. One of the photo-takers loudly exclaims, “Oh, it was Liam, too! Shit!” causing her friends to giggle, and then the doors slide shut again.

Liam meets him once he's almost to the car and slips the duffel bag off his shoulder, then wraps his arms around him. Louis nuzzles into his neck.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Liam murmurs. “Missed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Me too.”

Liam kisses him on the cheek, and they draw back and smile at each other. Liam grows all funny and light in the chest.

“So,” he says, “I wanted to say sorry, if I've been a little annoying, with the baby stuff —”

“Liam —”

“No, no, lemme just — I can calm down. You're right, when it happens, it'll happen, and I need to just chill out —”

Louis shakes his head. “Babe, babe —”

“— and it doesn't have anything to do with me feeling insecure, or maybe it does, but I realized how idiotic that is, like, I know we can't make up for the time we lost, but I know I don't have to have a baby with you to —”

“Liam,  _please_ ,” Louis says breathlessly, laughing and beaming at him, cupping Liam’s face in his hands and stroking his thumbs over his cheeks. “Can I get a word in, here?”

“Yeah, yeah! Sorry."

Louis’ light eyes are dancing. “I’m pregnant.”

The breeze is whipping them, and his voice comes out so raspy and tender that Liam almost can’t hear him. It takes him a few beats to really process what Louis said — then his head starts buzzing, and his mouth goes dry.

“You're what?”

“I took another test before I left for the airport,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss to a stunned Liam’s jaw. “Big yes, this time. We’re gonna have a baby.”

Liam lets out a joyful laugh and picks him up, spinning them around together, arms wrapped around his slender waist. “Tommo!”

Louis starts laughing too. When they stop and Liam has settled his feet back onto the concrete, he exclaims, “Don't shake it right back out of me!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just so hype —”

“Me too, me too.”

They get Louis’ luggage into the boot with a bit of help from Daniel, and then they pile into the Rolls together, giggling like teenagers.

 

*

 

They enter the house as quietly as possible and gently shake awake the nanny, Agnes, who apparently put Sunday to bed and fell asleep on the couch watching  _Real Housewives of Montauk_.

She says goodbye to them, yawning, and they quietly pad upstairs. Liam checks in on Sunday, making sure she's fast asleep, and then they head down the hall.

Liam gets ready for bed while Louis unpacks, then sits on the edge of the marble tub and watches him brush his teeth in a sort of dopey daze.

Louis spits and turns to him, his eyes warm and sweet. “You've been quiet,” he says.

Liam shrugs, smiling. “Just happy.”

“Yeah, same. I was, like, daydreamin’ the whole way home.”

They pile into bed and cuddle close, Liam with his arms around Louis, Louis with his arm slung possessively across Liam’s chest, hand splayed over his heart.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs. “Don't get  _too_  excited yet, alright?”

Liam presses his nose to Louis’ head and inhales. “I know. I’m not.”

“The tests were a week apart, I can't be very far along…”

“I did put that together on my own, love.”

“Maybe I shouldn't’ve even told you.”

“Noo, of course you should've.”

Louis doesn't say anything, so Liam boops him on the nose, and he laughs.

“I just don't want to make you sad,” he murmurs. “If it goes screwy.”

“Ahh, sadness is part of life.”

“Hey —” Louis lifts his head. “Tell me more about Mia getting in a  _fight_? Sorry I rushed you off the phone, you called right before I went into a promo taping.”

Liam sighs. “So… don't be angry at her. She got in an argument with some girl who's apparently been bullying Sunday —”

“ _What_? Who's bullying Sunday? I'll kill ‘er!”

“Your kid had the same instinct, apparently.”

“Oh, no,” Louis groans. “And it was like, a legitimate fight?”

“Her nose was bloody.”

“Her  _nose_  was bloody? Her little nose? Nooo!” He sits up in the bed, suddenly furious. “That's my  _baby_!”

“I told you about that on the phone!”

“I couldn't hear! I had Simon talking me ear off! Christ… I’ve gotta tell Zayn, and we'll have a talk with her.”

“Go easy on her,” Liam says quickly. “Her heart was in the right place, and it didn't even happen at school.”

“What? Where's she rumblin’, then?”

“That park the kids all go to, down the road.”

Louis laughs. “She rumbles in the park, now? My eight-year-old daughter?”

“She takes after you, huh?” Liam reaches out and pushes a piece of his fringe back. “The Thuglinsons.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, then cuddles back up to him. “So… what was that about Sunday?”

“I'm handling it,” Liam says shortly.

“Okay, love. I just, uh…” He cups his hand to his middle. “You realize, when this one comes out of here, we have to parent it as a team?”

“‘Course! I can't wait for that. But this is different…”

“I know!”

“And I know I can't really go to Ceci about things like this, but —” He breaks off.

Louis draws circles on Liam's chest with his finger. “It’s just I want to at least be a sounding board for you, I want you to open up to me about these things. It’s really nice, when we talk frankly about that stuff… I want to feel trusted.”

“‘Course I trust you.”

“I know you do.” Louis kisses him on the neck. He's unshaven from the plane, and his stubble is bristly. “But I don't mean trust me like, in the simplest meaning of trust. I mean trust me not to pass judgment on you or her, or think about you uncharitably, or pity you —”

“I don't think you ever would!” Liam slips his hand over Louis’, so they're both clasped to his stomach. “I don't even know what you  _mean_  by that.”

“I think you do know what I mean. And you know I never would.”

“Well, this is a little fuckin’ hard for me,” he admits. “Mia said she's catching shit from these nasty popular girls ‘cos she's quiet, she doesn't stick up for herself.”

“Oh, Liam…”

“And I don't want to prod her about it, ‘cos I know, like — she hates to worry me, and anyway, parents can't really help with this shit. Meddling in it just makes it worse.”

“No, you're right about that. But, I mean, she's got Mia, and Amir too. Amir’s a bit oblivious about this stuff, but Mia’s clearly looking out for her...”

“Yeah, yeah. I appreciate that. I mean, Mia’s got clout.”

Louis laughs. “Mia’s got a  _gang_... Between her and Amir with his skateboarding hooligans, they're like the Krays. Look, Sunday’s got friends. She's got her friends in the Pony Club, and she's got her friends at school.”

“Yeah, she does… I dunno. It's really hard not to go out of my mind about this.”

“I get it. I do. But you can talk to me, alright?”

“I know.”

“I mean, what if we have a baby, and kids bully it? What are we gonna do? After Mia gets done beating the bullies to death with a chair, I mean?”

“I'm sure they will bully our kid!” Liam exclaims. “‘Cos apparently it’s like some kind of genetic disease!”

“Payno, nooo!” Louis tackles him onto the bed. “There's nothin’ wrong with you… this isn't your fault, alright? It's not. Probably it's my fault, innit, ‘cos it was my stupid idea to pull the kids out of their schools and move to Calabasas. We shouldn't’ve moved. This is a new problem, so it’s my fault.”

“No, we had to make a life together. We got engaged, of course we had to move in together… we put it off long enough as it is.”

Louis shrugs. “So…”

“So, ah. I dunno. I'll talk to Sunday again, maybe I can pull it out of her.”

“I can talk to her, if you want,” Louis says.

Liam’s quiet for a moment. “And say what?”

“Oh, come on… All five of us got shit on plenty in the band, and even before that, you know everybody didn't always love me, right? Loud flamboyant theater kid?”

“But you’ve always brushed that stuff off, you put up your middle finger and move on. She takes it too hard, and people can tell, and it makes it worse.”

“She should focus on making friends with everyone else in her class, besides the shitty girls. Kill ‘em with kindness. If everyone but the popular kids likes her, she’ll have a barrier against them, and everyone’ll turn on them ‘cos they’ll see they're being mean for no reason.”

“I like that idea,” Liam agrees.

“Well, it's like we did, right?” Louis grins. “When everyone made fun of us for being teeny bopper boyband idiots? We just did the best job we could, and we niced ‘em to death. And then they either started liking us, or at least felt too guilty to keep taking the piss out of us.”

“That's true.”

“Y’know, I know you see yourself in her,” Louis says, “but... I sort of get what she’s goin’ through with her mum.”

Liam runs his tongue over his teeth. “I hadn’t thought about that,” he admits.

“Then, like... just please, please don’t shut me out. I’m so tired of us shutting each other out of shit like this.”

Liam rolls Louis over and kisses him on the nose. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m working on it, I promise I am.”

“Alright. Good.”

“Hey… Good to have you home.”

“Good to be home,” Louis says with a crinkly-eyed smile. “So, now that I'm pregnant, can I have pizza?”

“All the pizza you want, lovey."

“By the way, Niall said your nightshades thing is fake.”

Liam huffs. “What’s Niall know about dietary science?”

“I dunno, I trust him.”

“I trust Tom Brady more than Niall when it comes to tomatoes.”

“Do you? Do you really, lad?”

“No, not really.”

Louis laughs. Liam claps the lights off, and they settle back against the pillows together.

 

 

COLDWATER CANYON, SEPTEMBER 25, 2024

Zayn’s DJ friend Melissa comes by to drop off the master of his last album that she's borrowed to make lossless chopped and screwed versions of a couple of his songs — then ends up staying for coffee, notices he's a little solemn and weird, and before he knows it they're curled on the leather couch in his studio and he's confessing the entire Harry thing to her.

“Oh, wow,” she says. “That sucks.”

“I'm over it,” Zayn says, very untruthfully. “It's whatever.”

“No, it’s not. Like… for real, that sucks. But they never leave them, you know? They say they'll leave, but they never do. That’s the truth of being the side bitch.”

He thinks, but doesn't say, that it isn't always. He left Perrie for Louis, after all. He married his side bitch. “I guess. I've never been one before.”

“You’re lucky.” Melissa folds her arms. He notices for the first time that part of her right-arm sleeve is a cool-looking scorpion, and makes a mental note to ask her what artist did it. “Do you like, have real feelings for him?”

Zayn shrugs.

“How did this even get started? I thought you guys weren't friends, didn't talk.”

“We weren't,” Zayn says. He goes over to his iMac and shakes the mouse to get it to wake up so he can power it down. “I ran into him at Fashion Week. We used to date, like.”

“ _What_? When?”

“In the band.”

“Wow,” Melissa says.

Zayn perches in the desk chair and spins around to face her. “Yeah. Like… ‘bout thirteen years ago.”

“Damn... do people know about this?”

”Nah, hardly anybody. We kept it really quiet. Anyway, he ditched me, way back when. He was starting to get obsessed with ‘is career. So… yeah.”

The door to the recording booth creaks open, then, and they both turn to look; it's Taylor, her blonde hair glowing in the dim light.

“Oh, hey Melissa,” she exclaims.

“Hey girl.”

“Sorry, were we working today?” Zayn says.

“Noo, I actually came over to pick your brain about something,” Taylor says. “If it's not a bad time?”

“Yeah, I was just leaving,” Melissa says, popping up. “Thanks, Zayn, for the —”

“Oh, yeah, no problem, send me the links when they're up.”

“Am I interrupting?” Taylor says, slipping her bag off her shoulder and tossing it into a chair.

“Nah,” Melissa says, moving for the door. “We were just talking about, like, relationship shit.”

Zayn shoots a  _shut up_  look at her.

“Hold on,” Taylor says, putting her hands up and chuckling. “Is it about Harry? Because I've been dying to talk to you about the other week. That was  _sooo_  weird.”

“Wait, so she knows?” Melissa says.

“No, she doesn't know anythin’,” Zayn says in annoyance. “I don't really — I’m not, like — this is weird, can we not?”

“Are you guys having an affair?” Taylor comes over and sits on the couch, and Melissa joins her. Taylor jokingly puts her fist under her chin and widens her eyes at him. “Spill.”

“Not really an  _affair_ ,” Zayn mutters. “They've got an open relationship.”

“I love sober Zayn,” Taylor says to Melissa. “He's such an open book now. It used to be like pulling teeth.”

“Ohh, yeah, I remember,” Melissa says, nodding.

Zayn sighs.

“So wait, an open relationship?” Taylor says, turning back to him.

“I mean, open enough. ‘E wasn't supposed to catch feelings.”

“Ohh, and he did with  _you_ ,” Taylor says. “Wow, the plot thickens. So what happened?”

Zayn shrugs. “It's over. It's whatever.”

“Noo!” Taylor puts a manicured hand out flat, as if for emphasis. “Honestly? I always thought he was hung up on you.”

“Doubt it.”

“I think I would know!”

“No offense, but, like... you wouldn't, necessarily.”

She eyes him. “Do you want him to be hung up?”

“He can be whatever he wants to be.”

“Are  _you_  hung up?”

Zayn doesn't answer. He digs in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter.

“Oh no, I made him smoke,” Taylor intones. “He's gone now.”

“‘M not gone,” he mutters, lighting up. “I just don't care. And if I did care, it wouldn't do anythin’ about anythin’, so why would I care?”

“But you can't decide not to, if you do,” Melissa says. Taylor arches an eyebrow and nods.

“Look, I appreciate the concern, but like… it's whatever. He's, y’know. Weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Taylor says dubiously.

“And married,” Zayn adds. He takes a deep drag, trying to suffocate the burning ache in his chest. “So… Wasn’t really a massive investment on my end.”

Neither of them look like they believe him.

“Can we talk about music now?” he says.

 

CALABASAS, OCTOBER 10, 2024

Elijah zealously runs Louis through the wringer at their first baby appointment, testing him for everything from chicken pox to syphilis, and sends them on their way with pamphlets about their options for genetic screenings. Louis is a good sport about it to his face, but once they get in the car, he lets loose.

“Hiii!” he says, imitating Elijah’s Midwestern lilt, “congrats on the baby, so, have you considered that it might have a terminal genetic defect? Do you want me to stick a giant needle in you to find out? Are you and your husband both carriers for some horrible illness you’ve never ‘eard of? Have you ever had  _gonorrhea_?”

“Fiancé,” Liam corrects.

“Shut it, you're basically me husband.”

Liam smiles.

“Why don't I remember going through this with my other kids?” he muses. “I must've blocked it out. Reckon my first doctor visits were always shorter, too... I've never planned one, obviously.” He looks over at Liam, who's concentrating on finding a hole in traffic to merge into, amidst the grotesque midday clogging of the 101. “Do you remember this shit, from Sunday?”

“I do now, but I think I'd blocked it out.”

“It's so grim,” Louis mutters. “What are the odds, anyway? I’m thirty-two, not fifty. I've made two perfectly good ones already.”

Liam remembers his miscarriage, then, and realizes he's probably actually worried and just covering up for it with bluster. “Nice to know for sure there's a baby, though,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah. Definitely. He said my hGC levels are properly high, actually, so that's good. When did he say we could get the ultrasound? You wrote everything down, right?”

“It's in my notes on my phone,” Liam says, indicating his front shirt pocket with his chin. Louis reaches over and slips it out.

“‘Can get ultrasound on October eighteen,’” he reads aloud. “‘Their ultrasound tech, who is best in state, fell down stairs and broke ankle. Recuperating for one more week.’ You think if she's so good, she wouldn't fall down the stairs.”

“What does being good at ultrasounds have to do with being good at stairs?”

“I dunno. I just want the thing done already. He made me feel like the baby’s in there with three heads on account of my chlamydia.”

“Tommo, you've never had chlamydia, you've never even had an STD.”

“Had chicken pox, though.”

“That’s actually good for baby, he said.”

“I think your anxiety’s contagious.”

“Noo!” Liam reaches over and takes Louis’ hand. Louis laces their fingers together.

“You look handsome today,” he murmurs, glancing over at him. “Keep wondering what our kid’s gonna look like…”

“Well, keep in mind, each of the three heads is gonna look different,” Liam deadpans, and Louis swats him on the arm, laughing.

”Know what I just realized?” he says. “Was already pregnant when we went to the beach, wasn’t I?”

”Shit, you mean we had all that good sex for no reason?”

Louis grins. ”Ain’t that a shame?”

 

*

 

By the time they get home, Agnes has already fetched the kids from school. Liam and Louis settle down in the den to watch some TV, and while Liam is working on getting a fire started in the fireplace, Amir sneaks in.

Liam turns to see him snuggling up under Louis’ arm.

“Hi baby,” Louis says, and kisses him on the head. “What's up?”

Liam settles on the couch next to them and picks up the remote, flicking from news to sports to some Jessica Chastain movie.

“Nothing,” Amir murmurs, resting his inky-haired head against Louis’ chest.

“You just miss me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay.”

Liam passes the remote to Louis. He tends to be on his toes around Amir, who idolizes Zayn and mostly tolerates Liam. While he's been able to forge a bond with Mia, Amir is like an informational black box. Liam puts in patience and care and respect, but he's not entirely sure where it goes.

It doesn't matter, of course. It can go wherever Amir wants it to, because he's a child. He just hopes Amir understands that he loves Louis open-heartedly, and caring for his kids is part of that.

“What are we watching?” Louis says, glancing at Liam.

Liam shrugs. “What do you guys want?”

“Rocket Power,” Amir murmurs.

Louis laughs. “That's hasn't been on TV for about twenty years, love.”

“It's on Netflix.”

“I'm good with Rocket Power,” Liam says, and flicks to the Netflix app.

 

ESPRIT MARINA DEL REY, OCTOBER 12, 2024

“Why am I tied to the boat?” Amir complains, tugging at the loose line that’s clipped to his lifevest at one end and the bow of the boat at the other. “Mia’s not tied!”

“‘Cos you almost went overboard last time!” Louis shouts over the motor as he unloops line from a dock cleat.

“I saw a sea turtle!”

“That ain't a good reason to almost go overboard!”

“Heads up,” Zayn shouts, as the wind swings the boom back and across the boat. Louis ducks.

In July, Zayn had taken Harry out on the boat so they could escape the watchful eye of Angelos’ bodyman, or PI, or whoever was following them that day. They got this very romantic idea of taking to the sea to escape. Harry had a few glasses of wine and got all giggly and silly. He’s so tall that the boom kept hitting him — he had to hit the deck just to stay clear of it. The wind had died down around noon, stranding them for a few hours, and they had sex all afternoon down in the cabin. It was just them and the creak of the boat, the smell of salt from their sweat and the sea.

Zayn realizes he's zoned out thinking about this, and he takes a seat at the tiller so he can guide them out of their dock slip.

Mia climbs up out of the cabin, squinting. It's a gorgeous sunny day, and the light is bouncing off the water and hitting them all in the eyes. Zayn hands her a pair of aviators.

“You didn't see a sea turtle, dummy,” she says to Amir, sitting next to him. They look like tiny crabbers in their matching high-vis vests.“It was garbage. The ocean is full of garbage.”

“You're full of garbage,” Amir retorts.

They tussle good-naturedly over this.

“Kids,” Louis says. “Not on the boat. Fight on land.”

“Yeah, fight in the park,” Amir shoots back at Mia. “Why isn't she in trouble for fighting?”

“She is,” Zayn says. “There's been consequences.”

Not quite enough of them, in his opinion. They had met in the middle on the terms of her punishment. He suspects Louis is secretly proud that their child has started handing out vigilante street justice.

“I had no phone for a  _week_ ,” Mia says, as if this were on par with being exiled to Siberia. “I missed so many memes! How’d you even hear about the fight, anyway?”

“My whole grade’s been talking about it behind Maddie’s back. I think they’re glad about it. Maddie’s been less mean.”

“Are they leaving Sunday alone, though?”

“I guess,” Amir says, shrugging. “I don't pay attention to the girls.”

“You suck as a spy,” Mia tells him.

“Don’t say sucks,” Louis says.

His phone goes off in his pocket. He slips it out and glances at it, then laughs; it’s a dick pic from Liam. They’ve taken to sending each other them throughout the day, half to flirt and half to fuck with each other.

 _Come get this work_ , Liam says.

 _I think you mean cum ;)_ , Louis texts back.

_ohohohohohoho tommooo_

Louis chuckles _,_ then picks up a bottle of sunscreen and starts slathering it all over the kids’ faces, ignoring their loud protestations.

“They don’t burn, they’re olive-skinned,” Zayn says, adjusting the tiller as they glide out into the Santa Monica Bay. There are a dozen or so other boats out on the water; he exchanges a wave with the bloke who’s closest to them.

“‘Scuse me, they absolutely do burn,” Louis says, as Amir wriggles madly in his grasp. “‘Specially Mims, she’s fairer.”

“I burned  _once,_ ” Mia says, grimacing as she tries to rub the sunscreen into her cheeks.

“What are you, joking? Your cheeks get burned every time we go to the beach!”

“It’s in my hair!” Amir cries.

“Good,” Louis says, pushing his sleek dark fringe back and rubbing sunscreen into his hairline. “Your scalp burns too, y’know.”

“Daddy,” Amir appeals to Zayn.

“Just humor him,” Zayn says. “You'll have less wrinkles when you’re older.”

 

*

 

They drop sail a few miles out, and Louis and Zayn head down into the cabin to put together the food they brought along while the kids remain up top, playing Go Fish with each other in lieu of 5G coverage.

“You good?” Louis murmurs to Zayn as they try to set up a crudite plate without spilling ranch everywhere.

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn says, growing self-conscious. “Why?”

“You seem a little out of it, lately.”

Zayn flaps his hand. “Got a bit of insomnia.”

“How’s AA?”

“AA’s great. I might start sponsoring people, actually.”

“Yeah? You working on any music?”

“Yeah, a couple things. What’s with the third degree?”

Louis laughs. “No third degree. Just asking.”

The boat sways, and a stray piece of rigging slides down the counter toward the food. Zayn picks it up and tosses it into the corner. “Don’t worry about me.”

“That’s a big ask,” Louis says quietly, dipping a carrot into the ranch. “Is it Natalie?”

Zayn, distracted and only half-listening, says, “Who?”

“ _Natalie_? Your ex-girlfriend?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, guess it’s Natalie.”

Louis studies him, then shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not it.”

“Sorry, is that up to you to decide?” Zayn says, amused. “How would you know?”

“Apart from the fact that you didn’t even remember who she was just now?”

“I didn’t not remember, I just wasn’t listenin’ to you.”

“Cheers. Either way, I could tell you were just marking time with her.”

“Yeah? You know the internal workings of my mind that well?” He dips a piece of celery and pops it into his mouth.

“Actually, I do,” Louis says, his eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re right.”

“So what’s got you sad, then?” He nudges him.

“Lemme just keep it under my hat for a while,” he mutters. “I’ll tell you, I promise. I just need a bit of time. It’s still sort of unsettled.”

Louis’ brow creases at this, and his lips part like he’s going to say something, but in the end he just nods.

“I brought some beer for you,” Zayn says. “Miller High Life.”

Louis laughs. “The champagne of beers.”

“Only the best for the ex.”

“I’ll stick with water, actually. Bit queasy.”

“Yeah? You seasick?”

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

“You should eat something,” Zayn says. “You don’t usually get seasick.”

“Yeah, weird, right?” he agrees, a little too eagerly.

Zayn squints at him. “Alright, now I feel like _you’re_  hiding something.”

Louis laughs and folds his arms over his chest. “Where’re you getting  _that_  from?”

Zayn taps his bus one tattoo.

“Yeah, well. I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.”

“Alright, deal.”

Zayn lets Louis go ahead of him up the stairs, then pinches him on the arse when he does.

“Ayy!” Louis shouts. “I’m gonna drop the food!”

“Is there crisps?” Amir says.

“Eat your vegetables first,” the dads chorus in unison, but Zayn grabs a bag of Lays off the counter before heading up.

 

*

 

Louis and the kids get dinner with Zayn and don’t return home until around nine, all cheerfully windswept and a bit sunburned. Liam comes down the stairs with his phone in his hand and hovers as Louis hangs up their life vests and windbreakers, chattering away about whatever domestic shit is on his mind. It’s not until the kids have scampered upstairs and Louis has closed the coat closet and turned to his fiancé that he realizes Liam has a sort of queasy look.

“What’s up?” Louis says. “Everything okay?”

Liam smiles thinly. He looks handsome in a dark henley, his hair swept back from his temples, but his face is drawn and he has that faraway look in his dark eyes. “Everything’s fine. Can we talk in private?”

“Wait, what is it?” Louis is struck by paranoia. “Did the doctor call?”

“No, no,” Liam assures him. “It’s not anything to do with you or the kids, babe, I promise.”

Louis nods in relief and follows him to the den.

Liam already has a fire going, or maybe he has for some time now. It’s dying out, the embers crackling and casting an eerie glow on the dark mahogany walls. Louis follows him across the soft carpet in his sock feet, and Liam settles in the corner of the sectional, laying his phone on his thigh.

“I got a voicemail,” he says, not making eye contact. “From Ceci.”

“Oka-ay,” Louis says. He wishes Liam would just cut to the chase already; his hormones have him on edge. “And?”

“I’m just gonna play it,” Liam says, then taps his phone hard, like he’s angry at it.

A moment goes by in silence as it loads, and then there’s a crackly, husky female voice filling the air. Ceci’s voice. There’s muted laughter in the background, like she’s at a party or something.

“Um, hey, Liam,” she says. She sounds drunk. “I’m just… This is really not cool of me, I know, but... I can’t stop thinking about you, lately. Um, I feel so, so guilty and stupid about what happened. I don’t know why I let you go.”

Louis’ chest contracts sickeningly, like a fist balling up.

“I miss you and Sunday so much,” she says, woefully. “I miss us being a family. I want you back, I want everything back, I wanna, like — I wanna try this again... When you asked me when I was going to marry John, it was like a gut check. And I realized I don’t want that with John, okay? I want what we had back, all of our good times… I screwed up, I know. But I feel like we could move past it? I needed space, and time to figure my shit out, but I never stopped caring about you, Liam... I think you know what we had was real, right? I know you had this fantasy about Louis, but I think you’ve had enough time to realize that whatever you have with him isn’t the same as your fantasy was. You and I have a real history, and a daughter — anyway, um...” She sniffs. “Please just, like... call me back.”

There’s the sound of the phone being shuffled, some static and friction against the speaker, and then the line goes dead. 

Louis cups a hand to his face, trying to cool off the heat that’s rising to his cheeks as he fills with wounded anger. “What the fuck?  _What the fuck!”_

“I got this like a half hour ago,” Liam says, his voice rough. “Right after dinner. I didn’t even know what to do. I just waited for you to get home.”

“Is she fuckin’ crazy? You need to call her and tell her to fuck off! This is so inappropriate!”

“I don’t know if I’m going to say anything,” Liam says, dropping his phone onto the couch cushion beside him. “She’s obviously drunk. Who knows if she even meant it, she probably just had a fight with John —”

“Liam,” Louis furiously hisses, “I don’t give a  _fuck_! We’re engaged! I’m  _pregnant_! You are gonna call her and tell her to fuck the fuck off!”

Liam looks at him for the first time, and his face completely changes. “Oh, God,” he says. “Louis, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would upset you this much.”

 _“What?”_ Louis exclaims, his voice climbing several octaves.

“C’mere, c’mere…” Liam pulls him close, wrapping his arms around him. “God, I’m so stupid, Jesus Christ. I just — you don’t need to feel threatened by her. I honestly thought you might laugh at this.”

“ _Laugh?_  What am I, a sociopath?”

Liam kisses him hard on the top of his head. “I’m sorry. I’m just like, shook up. I mean, this is so — after what she put me through, this hurts, you know? Because where was all this shit four years ago?”

“I know, mate. I’m sorry.”

“I feel like she’s just manipulating me.”

“Fucking absolutely! I’m just a fantasy? Is she fookin’ serious? You and I’ve been together for years now!” Louis is hit with a wave of prickly queasiness, and he sits up, grimacing.

Liam grabs his arm, his face etched with concern. “You okay?”

“Just nauseous,” he mutters. “Think my blood pressure went up, listening to that.”

Liam rubs his back hard. “I’m sorry. Should I not have —”

“No, no, I wanted to hear it. But you can’t just let this go. You need to confront her about it.”

“I’m so bad at that,” Liam says. “She cries, and I back off and apologize, even when it’s not my fault.”

“She can cry all she fucking likes. You’re  _mine_.”

“I’m yours,” Liam murmurs, kissing Louis on the head again and slipping his hand under his shirt, cupping his palm to his belly. “And being with you’s even better I thought it would be, alright? She’s got no idea what she’s taking about.”

“Your ‘and’s all clammy…”

“Sorry. Nerves.”

Louis nods. “Want to call her back now?”

“Maybe I should wait, I'm so pissed right now,” Liam says. He rubs at his cheeks. “And my jaw’s  _so_  tight.” He pauses. “It’s okay to be angry about this, right? I should be angry?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s okay to be angry! I’m fuckin’ angry on your behalf!”

“I’m gonna have to wear my mouthguard tonight...”

“We should take a bath together, or something. Eat some ice cream, have sex, watch a funny movie. Whatever you like.”

Liam inhales and nods hard. “So… um. How was your day?”

“We really don’t have to talk about my day right now.”

“But was it good?”

“Yeah, it was fun. Kids had a good time. They like the boat.”

“Good, good,” Liam says. “I sort of want to get a boat. Not one like Zayn’s got, that’s too much work, but like, a yacht, maybe. With a couple bedrooms? We could take trips up the coast. I’m, um —”

Louis fists his hand in Liam’s shirt. “Love... you really have to call her back.”

“No, let me babble for a while longer,” he says, laughing. “Did I tell you I talked to Sunday’s teacher?”

“Noo, really? What’d she say?”

“Well, I explained the situation, and she says she’s gonna keep an eye out. So that’s good.”

“Amir said somethin’ earlier, about, like, his grade’s not too hot on this Maddie girl, anyway.”

“Kids that age are so complicated. Their little social dramas. I feel like, when you grow up, you just want people to smile at you and ask how your Christmas was. Sunday’s so sweet and polite, she's gonna be good at being an adult,” he says wistfully.

Louis shifts up and presses a kiss to Liam’s jaw, stroking his hair. “Yeah. She will.”

He lets out a wry laugh and turns his head, returning Louis’ kiss. “Alright. I’m gonna call Ceci.”

“You want privacy?”

“No. Sit right there.” He pauses. “Unless you don’t want to, ‘cos —”

“No, I think I’d actually have a fuckin’ aneurysm if you made me leave the room while you called her. I just wanted to be considerate.”

Liam chuckles at this, then picks up his phone and dials her back, holding the phone to his ear. Louis sort of wishes he’d put it on speaker, but he gets why he doesn’t. He rests his head against Liam’s shoulder, and Liam rubs his back some more. Louis can hear the phone ringing, and then the click and soft “Hello?”

“Hey,” Liam says. “We need to talk.”

She talks for a few moments. Louis thinks he hears the word ‘drunk’.

“Yeah, I‘d twigged.”

He can't hear what she says to this.

“This was such an unfair thing to do to me,” Liam says, his voice catching. “I tried really hard to save our marriage. I did. You didn’t meet me halfway. You gave up on us, so I moved on. And the chance for you to work with me to fix things is long gone. I need you to respect my relationship with Louis, ‘cos me and him are happy, and I’m totally committed to him. I’m gonna marry him.”

Louis strains to pick out pieces. She says ‘understand’, and then ‘just wanted to’.

“It’s so inappropriate, Ceci!”

“Okay!” she says, loudly enough that Louis can hear. “Fine!”

“Maybe you ought to break up with John,” Liam says, his voice going hoarse, “if you care this little about him —”

Louis is pretty sure she yells, “Don't tell me what to do!”

“Look, me and Louis are having a baby,” he shouts back at her. “So —”

Silence. He takes the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. “Cool. Great. She hung up.”

“Fucking… Jesus.”

Liam sets his phone facedown on the couch and lets out a long sigh. “Sorry I told her about the baby.”

“It's alright.” Louis pats him on the chest, then rubs his hand back and forth. Liam lays his own hand on Louis’ thigh. “It's all good.”

They don't say anything for a while. Liam appears to be thinking.

“Guess it’s nice to know she did ever actually care about me,” he says.

Louis winces. “I’m trying really hard not to be needy and jealous right now,” he says. “I just want you to know how hard I’m trying.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job.”

Louis pets his hair some more. “Are you okay, mate?” he says. “Do you want to like, take a half hour for yourself, go hit the bag in the basement?”

Liam laughs and squeezes his thigh. “Honestly,” he says, “I’m sort of sleepy? I’m down to go upstairs, have sex and go to bed.”

“Sounds perfect.”

 

*

 

Louis volunteers to do bedtime with the kids, so Liam goes and has a shower. He already showered this morning, but he feels dirty and weird and he wants to cry a bit, so he does it in there. It’s a sort of a dry cry, mostly funny noises and not a lot of tears. He towels off, puts his softest bathrobe on and lies spread-eagle on the bed, exhausted.

The door opens and Louis pads in, shuts it firmly, then comes over to the bed and crawls into it, settling over top of Liam. Liam wraps his arms around him and hugs him close. He can never seem to hold Louis tight enough or for long enough.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he murmurs to him, nuzzling his face into Louis’ stag tattoo. “You know I’d never in a million years take Ceci back?”

Louis grins. “Oh, Mr Responsibility who proposed to me when I was pregnant with someone else's baby and we weren't even dating, he isn't gonna leave me when I'm pregnant with his baby to go shack up with his nutty ex?”

Liam laughs, and Louis kisses him all over his cheeks.

“I know you wouldn't,” he says. “And it’s alright that you're shook up.”

Liam hesitates, then says, “What if Zayn did this to you?”

“If Zayn rang me up wasted, I'd have bigger concerns than the content of the call.”

“Be serious…”

“I was being serious. But Zayn doesn't want me back,” Louis murmurs, his blue eyes searching Liam’s face. “And if he did, that’d be awful, ‘cos he's the father of my kids, and I would’ve loved to have been able to make it work with him. But I couldn't, and I moved on, and I'm all-in with you. You're my partner in life. So that's what I'd tell him.”

“Okay,” Liam says, nodding. “That's the same way I feel.”

“Okay,” Louis says back, then leans down and kisses him deep on the lips.

Liam drags him close and rolls him onto his back. They snog hard, their stubble rubbing prickly together. Louis bites at his bottom lip, all spitty and toothy in a way that's somehow hot.

“I’d also tell Zayn,” he purrs in a low voice while rubbing Liam’s cock, “that you've got a bigger dick, and I’m a big slut who just can't get enough of it —”

Liam's cock pulses, and his gut quakes with a hot spasm. “Ohh,” he groans, “you're a fuckin’ demon, you know that?”

“Aye, I'm  _your_  demon, that's why you love me…”

They undress each other frantically, and Liam slides an arm between Louis’ back and the bed so he can hold him steady as he pushes into the tight heat of him. Louis lets out a loud moan, rocking under him and arching his back.

“Hey, hey, the kids are right down the hall,” Liam breathes, sucking at his neck.

“Sorry,” Louis says, his voice husky, “you feel so good…”

“Yeah?” Liam works his hips harder, breathing heavily.

Louis’ eyes flutter closed, and his lips part. “God, Liam, Liam, fuck.”

They snog desperately, moaning against each other's mouths.

“I wanna come in you,” Liam breathes, dragging his teeth over Louis’ throat, “I wanna come in you and all over you —”

Louis makes a breathy, hiccupy sound as Liam pounds into him. “I want that, I want it. I’m —  _fuck_  — I’m yours —”

Liam's muscles begin to ache, but he doesn't even think about stopping. Louis comes before he does, groaning and tipping his head back. Liam doesn't even stop so they can wipe it up, he just keeps going like a machine, sucking Louis’ bottom lip until it’s swollen, and fucking in and out of him.

Finally, he comes, and collapses on his side, sliding out with a twist of his hips. Louis lies there, breathing hard, eyes closed. His own come is all over his belly, and Liam’s is trickling down his inner thighs.

“God,” he exhales. “I should've made you touch my nipples.”

“Huh?”

“They've been crazy sensitive this week. Forgot to mention.”

“From the baby?”

“What else?”

“I dunno your nipple habits.”

“We've been together three years, my nipples ever been crazy sensitive before?”

“You came pretty hard without your nipples.”

Louis grins lazily. “Yeah I did.”

 

 

COLDWATER CANYON, OCTOBER 17, 2024

Zayn’s over at his friend Damon’s house, chilling with a bunch of people in his den, when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. 

He checks it like he’s got in the habit of doing since the kids, but it’s a number he doesn’t recognize, so he puts it away and tries to rejoin the conversation. A roar of laughter has just gone up, and he pretends like he heard whatever funny thing someone just said. 

The vibrating stops, then begins again. He refuses the call; another comes in. 

Zayn sighs in annoyance. Next to him, Forrest says, “You’re blowing up, man.”

”’Scuse me,” he says to no one in particular, and gets up, extricating himself from the lazy scrum of boys, stepping over legs.

”Wait, you smoking?” Chris calls after him. “I’ll come.”

”Nah, got a call,” Zayn calls back, and slips into the hallway. He leans his shoulder against the dark wall and picks up. “‘Lo?”

“Hey,” Harry’s low voice says.

Zayn doesn't answer.

“Hullo?”

“Yeah,” Zayn snaps. “What d’you want?”

There's a few seconds of reproachful silence. “Sorry. I've been drinking. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Yeah? Not badly enough, I reckon.”

“Don't be mean to me…”

“I'm not. Where’re you even calling from?”

“A burner.”

“A  _burner_?”

“Just in case.”

“Hey, y’know — this is like, borderin’ on abusive, this control freak shit he's doing. Don't be with me, whatever, but you need to leave him.”

“I'm fine,” Harry mutters. “Really. It's fine.”

“Harry —”

“I had an affair, he's right to be paranoid.”

“Do you have feelings for me?” Zayn says, his voice raw. He starts down the hall, walking toward a balcony door; he heaves it open and ducks into the warm air, then starts digging in his pocket for his cigarettes. 

Harry is silent.

“I'm hanging up,” Zayn warns. “If this is just gonna be a one-sided call with me making an idiot of myself —”

“Yes,” Harry says, quickly. “Yes, yeah. Yeah. For fourteen fucking years, yeah.”

He lights up. “Then — I don't get it, bruv. I don't get it at all.”

“It's not that simple.”

“How?”

“Our lives are so separate,” Harry says softly, “yours and mine. I mean — we’d have to date for months before I felt like we were on the same page again. And what if it didn't work out? I'm just — I can't throw away a sure thing just like that, just toss it all aside…”

“But you care about me. In a way you don't care about him.”

“Yes.”

“And you're throwing that away anyway.”

“We're not  _kids_  anymore, I dunno where sixteen-year-old Harry went! Christ, I've changed so much that kid might as well be dead!” he cries. “And so have you!”

“I’ve changed for the better!”

“Not five years ago, you ruined your marriage by cheating on your husband with  _my_  boyfriend _,_  partly as some sort of crazy petty revenge against me —”

“I was sick! I’m an addict! You know what, I’ve changed so much since then, you ‘ave no idea. But you won't let me prove it to you, you keep me at arm’s length!”

“Do you have any idea what's at stake for me here?”

“It’s all just excuses,” Zayn says fiercely, taking a hard drag. “I want to fight for you. I want you to  _let_  me fight for you. I can't stand thinking about that fucker keeping you in his house like a trophy. It makes my fucking skin crawl.”

“He's just been angry, I've treated him like shit, I've been this petulant child. I was lashing out.”

“Harry! This ain't you at all! You aren't this stupid!”

“Thanks,” Harry says coolly. “Glad to hear you know all about who I am and what I need to do... Maybe next you can ask me how my coke problem is going.”

“Christ — you know I didn't mean that, I was at a terrible place in my life, I was fuckin’ angry ‘cos you brought up my drinking problem —”

“Well, maybe I did have a bit of a coke problem, back then! Not that it's any of your fucking business!”

“Why did you call me if you're just going to torture me with the fact that we can't be together,” Zayn demands. “Why?”

Harry’s quiet.

“I dunno,” he says. “Reckon that was selfish of me. I should just let you go.”

“Harry —”

“I thought you didn't care,” Harry says. “I thought you hated me. That you thought I was this stuck-up cunt who dumped you, and you didn’t give a damn about me. All these years, I thought… I mean, first you fucking sandbag me by leaving, and then all those things you said in the press after you left the band, and you never said a word to me — you talked to Liam, you talked to Louis —”

“I  _had_  to talk to Louis, he was having my baby.”

Harry lets out a funny little breath. “Right.”

“Look —”

“I went up to you as a lark. Someone pointed you out all jokey, like, ooer, it's  _Zayn_ , you ought to say hi. But I wanted to prove I was over it, I was the bigger man, I didn't care. So I went up to you. And I remembered… everything, all of it, all the fucking wasted pain and stupid regret over you.” His low voice goes very soft, almost tentative. “And I just missed you.”

“It’s not too late. I swear to God it isn't. I put my pride aside. I'm over all that, you’ve got no idea.”

“I do, actually,” Harry says, sounding miserable. “I loved every minute we had together, this summer. But —”

“But what?”

“That isn't enough…”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Zayn shouts, “you always have, I can't  _ever_  tell what the fuck is going inside your head — you know what, fine, maybe this is a good thing, I already spent too much time fucking mooning over you when I was a teenager. I feel like a fucking idiot, all you've ever cared about is your career and how things look — you don't really give a fuck about me, you never ‘ave —”

“I loved you! I  _still_  love you!” Harry screams at him.

Zayn is stunned into silence. His heart spasms in shocked joy, a joy that's immediately smothered by reality.

“So don't tell me I don't give a fuck about you! I just can't do this, because it's always got to be like  _this_! And that scares the shit out of me!”

“What d’you mean,  _like this_? Honest, for once? Real?”

“I don't know!”

“Why is passion scary to you?” Zayn demands. “Why do you need shit to be so sanitized! How d’you even make art when you're fifty levels removed from everythin’ you've ever felt!”

“How can  _you_  stand feeling this much! I feel like I'm going to fucking die from it! The band, Perrie, Louis, you cutting my solo plans off at the knees before I even started, all of it — I don't want to be this open to you, this raw nerve, I don't want it to be this hard!”

“It's hard because it's  _real!”_

Harry hangs up on him.

Zayn stands there, hurt and fury bound up in his chest so tight he has to struggle to draw a breath. He smokes some more, fighting to compose himself. He doesn’t want to go back to those guys all weepy and fucked up. 

 

CALABASAS, OCTOBER 18, 2024

“Hey,” Louis says, coming into the bathroom.

Liam looks up. He’s sitting on the closed toilet seat, fully dressed and reading a magazine.

“That's weird, you know,” Louis says. “To just sit there when you're not shitting.”

“I like the privacy,” Liam says. “And the quiet.”

Louis puts his hands on his hips. “Is that directed at me?”

“No,” Liam says, grinning, “the kids, too.”

“I can't believe this.”

“I've been trying to read the trades all morning, and I've made more progress in the past half hour than I have since I woke up at seven.”

“What's in the trades?”

“Nothing earth-shattering today,” Liam says. “Just your typical shit with Sony trying to put a monopoly on the entire industry, and everyone else going, ‘Please don’t.’”

“So nothing so important you've got to hide from me in the toilet.”

“But I didn't know that ‘til I got a chance to read it,” Liam counters.

“Hey, I need to ask you something, and I need you to give it to me straight, no white lies.”

“Okay,” Liam agrees.

Louis lifts his shirt and steps to the side. “I'm showing, aren't I? Just a bit?”

“Hmm,” Liam says, immediately getting his stricken, how-do-I-get-out-of-this face.

Louis arches an eyebrow at him.

“It's subjective,” he adds. “I mean…”

“Please, you're my fiancé, you see me naked all the time. Who's more objective?”

“Alright… yeah. You're showing a bit.”

Louis groans and lets his shirt drop. “At  _nine_  weeks?”

“Then forget I said anything,” Liam exclaims, beckoning him over.

Louis comes over and settles onto his lap, nestling his face into the crook of Liam's neck.

”I like that you look pregnant,” Liam murmurs.

"Just early, is all.”

“Hey... you look fit today.”

“Ahh, you're gassing me up…”

“No ‘m not. I think you're sexy when you're pregnant.”

“Seriously?”

“We first slept together when you were, dafty, what did you think?”

“I dunno, I thought you were politely ignoring that bit, like it was a bad haircut or something.”

“No,” Liam says, laughing, “that wasn't it.”

Louis kisses the dip of his collarbone. “Why d’you like it?”

“Oh, I dunno… you're all glowy… your arse gets real nice.”

“Always about my arse with everybody! You'd think I was just a talking arse with legs! Anyway, I've never thought pregnant people were hot, myself. Dunno, it's sort of a turnoff, like, no point in fucking this one, lads, no vacancy…”

“I don't think my dick is that smart,” Liam admits. “I think it just sees you pregnant and thinks about how it wants to get you pregnant.”

“But I’m already pregnant.”

“Again, not that smart.” Liam pets his hair. “Can we go to your sonogram now? I want to see our three-headed baby.”

“Sto-op!”

 

*

 

Their ultrasound tech is a little redhead named Georgia; she has a boot on, like Niall had to wear when he broke his foot. They have to wait a few minutes for her in the ultrasound room, and when she does come in, Louis chirps, “So how'd you fall down the stairs, then?”

Liam laughs. “Tommo, always the picture of tact...”

“It's not rude! ‘Less she was on a bender.”

Georgia laughs as she clomps over to them and takes a seat on the rolling stool at the desk, pulling herself close to the state of the art, space age-looking ultrasound set-up. She starts typing on the keyboard. “No, I actually was chasing after my cat. She had my daughter’s hamster in her mouth. She went down the stairs, and I went after her.”

Liam grimaces. “And the hamster?”

“Very dead,” she says apologetically. “But I got my daughter a new one, and she hasn't seemed to notice the difference. She's three, so. Louis, mind lifting your shirt for me?”

Louis does. He's old hat at this, now; he doesn't even wince when she rubs the cold goo on him. Liam stands next to him, squeezing his shoulder.

“And you're nine weeks, right?” she says.

“Just about.”

“Third pregnancy, was it?”

“Fourth,” he says, rubbing at his nose.

“Cool, cool,” Georgia says, "makes things easier for me..." She rolls back over to the desk and types away, then comes back with the wand and presses it to him.

Louis squints at her, watching her eyes as she watches the screen, but her face doesn't give anything away.

Georgia glances back at her hand, then moves it again to a spot beside his navel and nods. “Okay,” she murmurs, “I have a good picture, here…”

“Anything wrong?” Liam says.

“You’ll have to discuss the findings with Dr McCann when he gets in, but I'm not seeing anything catastrophic so far,” she says. “Umm… Hmm. Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a family history of multiples?”

Louis’ entire head gets hot, then light, like it's become a balloon. Prickly shock sweeps over him. Liam’s hand begins squeezing his shoulder very, very hard.

“Sorry?” he demands.

“Multiples,” she says. “Twins, triplets? Your siblings, or your parents’ siblings…”

Louis stares at her in mild catatonia.

“He’s got two sets of twin siblings,” Liam answers for him.

Georgia nods, then doesn't say anything else for a while. The screen casts a blue glow on her face. She's still moving the wand around.

More loudly than he means to, Louis says, “Was that question just academic, or?”

“Uh, no,” she says, smiling, and finally turns the monitor to face them. “It wasn't.”

“So…”

“I just found baby B. You're having twins.”

“Fuck off!” Louis says, completely out of reflex, as Liam lets out a weird half-laugh, half-gasp from beside him. 

Georgia chuckles appreciatively and taps the screen. “See the two sacs, and how there’s an individual baby in each? And…” There’s a clacking sound as she turns up the volume on her Apple keyboard, and then the air fills with the sound of  _whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh._ She moves the wand a few inches to the left, and there it is again. “Hear that second heartbeat?”

Louis’ ears are ringing; his mouth has gone so dry that his tongue sticks to the roof of it.

Liam bends joyfully into his shoulder, laughing like a madman. “Oh my God,” he wheezes. “You're fucking kidding me.”

“Twins,” Louis repeats.

“Yep!” Georgia happily confirms. “So you really had no idea? And you guys weren't having help with fertility, or anything?”

“Nope,” Louis says in a daze. “Apparently that's the last thing on earth I need help with.”

Liam straightens up, wiping his eyes. “How d’you sound so calm, babe?”

“I honestly don't think it's sinking in,” Louis says, reaching for his hand and grabbing it tight.

“Do you need a moment?” Georgia says, getting up, her stool creaking. She sets the wand aside, and the screen goes dark. “I was about to go give my findings to your doctor, so he can go over them with you…”

“Yeah, please,” Liam says.

She winks, sends something from her computer and then she's off — clomp clomp.

Louis inhales deeply and tugs his shirt back down. “Liam?” he says, his voice rising in both pitch and decibel. “We’re gonna have  _five_  kids!”

“That's not much more than four!”

“Somehow it feels like a lot more than four!”

Liam holds four fingers up, then adds his thumb. “One more.”

Louis slaps his hand away. “Cheers, I can count!”

Liam nudges him over, perches one knee next to him on the vinyl cushion of the seat, and starts kissing him all over his face.

“Two babies,” Louis mutters.

Liam kisses his neck and ears.

“You are a puppy boy, and you put a litter in me.”

Liam takes Louis’ face in his hands and kisses him on the nose. “I love you,” he says, beaming. “I'm so fucking happy about this.”

Louis looks back at him, and finds his joy is so contagious that he's smiling, too.

 

*

 

Elijah cheerfully confirms to them that yes, it is twins — fraternal ones, who are healthy so far and a decent size for nine weeks, despite being roommates. He says a lot more than that, but Louis mostly just stares at him across his desk, processing occasional bits and pieces as Liam sits beside him peppering the doctor with follow-up questions.

In the car home, Louis gazes out the window at the passing suburbs, zoning out until the houses become pale smears. After a few minutes of quiet, he says, “What if one of them eats the other?”

“I think you're maybe too far along for that,” Liam says, and flips his turn signal. “Were you thinking about, like,  _Always Sunny_?”

“I was, actually.”

He laughs. “Me too. But hey, they're about the same size, which one’d eat the other? They're equally matched. It's like the Cold War.”

“In my uterus.”

“A Cold War in your uterus. You could've asked our Mormon.”

“I was too shell-shocked,” Louis says. “Did I even ask him anythin’?”

“You asked if your pelvis was gonna be okay. He said he might put you on bedrest, later on.”

“Shit. I hate bedrest.”

“I'll keep you company,” Liam assures him.

Louis rests his head against the window.

 

*

 

When they get home, Zayn has already picked up their kids, and there's a note from Agnes saying she took Sunday to the farmer’s market. So Louis heads upstairs, past the builders hard at work.

He lies back on the bed and watches shadows move on the ceiling. Even with the door closed he can hear the remodeling going on down the hall, the soft thunks of nails into wood and heavy things being moved around, men’s voices quietly talking.

After a few minutes he hears the door open, and then Liam is coming in, rubbing boyishly at the back of his neck. Louis smiles at him, watching as he makes his way over and kneels onto the mattress, crawling up between Louis’ legs and patting him gently on the inside of one thigh.

“Hey there,” he murmurs.

“Hi Payno.”

Liam meets his eyes. “You good?”

Louis nods.

He draws his lower lip into his mouth. “Not upset with me?”

“With  _you_? God, ‘course not… it's not your fault. Bit impressed with you, actually. Nice work.” He very lightly socks Liam in the jaw, and they smile at each other.

“Two babies at once, though,” he adds. “That’s a lot. I’ve only ever done one.”

“What about when you had Amir, and Mims was a toddler, running around? That couldn’t‘ve been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Louis says. “But at least she was sleeping through the night.”

He has a sudden jerk of anxiety in his gut, then. Their kids are still young, they need a lot of attention, and now they’re all going to have a pair of exhausted zombie parents for nearly a year, probably. Will his kids start relying on Zayn in his place? He’s always sort of secretly enjoyed that if the four of them are out someplace, and one of the kids skins their knee or gets in a spat, he’s who they come running to to soothe them. They adore Zayn, but Louis is their first instinct, their first line of defense against the world, it’s his arms they want to hide in. And what about Sunday? Her mum is a neurotic flake, she doesn’t even have anyone else to turn to.

“Look, we've got a fantastic nanny,” Liam says. “We can hire dozens more nannies, if you like. Whole football team of nannies.”

Louis laughs. “I don't know that we’ll need  _that_  many.”

“And the kids are old enough that they can babysit, down the road.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, gazing at him. “I'm just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Liam drops his head and mouths at Louis’ belly under the thin fabric of his shirt. He kisses it, then blows a raspberry, and a tickly Louis wriggles under him, giggling.

“Me too,” he admits, looking up at Louis. “Now that the excitement’s wearing off. We’re not gonna sleep for a while, definitely.”

“Try a year.”

“Yeah, but two little babies,” Liam says happily, settling down half on top of him. Louis runs his hands through Liam’s hair. “Little fingers and toes, sweet little faces… seeing ‘em smile for the first time.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “And  _your_  babies. I really wanna have your babies.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, wasn't I telling you that a while back? I want sweet little Liam babies with big brown eyes.”

Liam kisses him on the neck some more. “You've got ‘em.”

Louis grins, enjoying all the attention Liam is lavishing on him. “Hey… you were so fuckin’ worried you weren't gonna get me pregnant, and you knock me up in like, what, two months? With twins? I think you overcompensated a bit.”

Liam shakes with laughter. “Oi, you're the fertile one, here! Criminy!”

“You’re right, bit pigheaded of me, innit? I’m puttin’ all the power in your hands, when it's me who's got the magic uterus…”

“‘S’what I'm saying!”

Louis musses Liam's hair. “Do we have to tell the kids soon, then? I wanted to wait ‘til I was twelve weeks, but considering it's twins, might be too obvious by then? I'm worried I might get papped.”

“That's a tough one,” Liam says. “Shit, I reckon we should tell our reps, then, too, so they can stay on top of things.”

“And our families. Alternately, I could hide out in the house for the next month.”

Liam laughs. “That may be a bit impractical.”

“We can take it one day at a time,” Louis suggests. “Who knows, maybe nobody’ll realize.”

“Tommo, you're already showing a bit, and I can tell every time you gain or lose, like, a pound. I think it's gonna be obvious pretty soon.”

“Lemme live in my house of lies a while longer.”

“I did already run it by Sunday, so…”

“What, us having a baby?”

“Yeah.” Liam smiles, his eyes crinkling. “She loved the idea. She always wanted siblings.”

“Good, good,” Louis says, relieved. “I did the same thing with Mims… well, I went a bit further, I told her we were trying. She was happy about it.”

“Perfect. What about Amir?”

“I'll get to that,” Louis says, wincing. “I tend to baby ‘im a bit.”

“ _Noo_ , really?”

“He's my baby!”

“Not for long.”

“Yeah… He's gonna hate that.”

“Maybe it'll be good for him,” Liam says. “Make him more mature.”

“I'll soft-pedal it.”

Liam buries his face in the crook of Louis’ arm, and Louis strokes the back of his head.

“At least it’s nice to know there’s a reason I’m showing so early,” he murmurs. “‘Cos I thought I was gonna have to cut way back on the tea biscuits.”

“See, there’s your silver lining.”

 

CALABASAS, OCTOBER 28, 2024

Liam is hard at work in the kitchen, getting out a second round of breakfast scramble to the kids as they wait in the dining room, when Louis wanders into the kitchen rubbing his nose. There’s a slight roundness to his middle, now, under the baseball tee he wore to bed.

“Hi,” he says to Liam, sort of wearily, then his eyes widen and he speeds back out of the room.

Liam turns the burner off, squinting. He waits for a few beats before heading into the hall; he finds Louis by the echoing sound of retching in one of the guest bathrooms.

“Hey,” he says in a gentle voice when he opens the door.

Louis is slumped pathetically over the toilet, his forehead resting against his arm. “Get  _out_ ,” he groans. “Go away.”

“Why?”

“You smell like eggs!”

Liam looks down at himself, baffled. “How?”

“I dunno! Your hands or something…”

Liam goes over to the peachy marble sink and starts rinsing off his hands; Louis makes a noise like he's a rooster caught in a fox’s mouth. “That won't help!”

He stops. “Louis —”

Louis retches again.

“Do you want me to rub your back for you?”

“No,” he keens, “I want you to leave me alone here in the toilet to die, horrible egg man.”

Liam laughs. “You want some plain oatmeal, or something? Pancake, maybe?”

Louis dry heaves.

“Plain pancake,” Liam hastens to add.

“Please just burn the house down and kill me,” Louis moans. “I've never been this nauseous in my fucking life.”

“I'll make you some toast,” Liam says, backing out of the toilet. “And then I'll burn the house down. Alright?”

He lets out a strangled half-laugh. “Thanks...”

Liam goes back to the kitchen and finishes the scramble; in the dining room, the kids have grown impatient and already finished all their orange juice.

“Where's Dad?” Amir says, sort of suspiciously.

“He's not feeling great, this morning,” Liam says. “He'll be down in a bit, though. Want ketchup with those?”

“Yes please,” Amir says, extending a hand to take the bottle.

“Gross,” Mia says vehemently.

“You put hot sauce on yours!”

“That is  _so_  different.”

Sunday, sitting off to the left, nods. “It is different.”

“See,” Mia says.

Amir sticks his tongue out at both of them.

“But ketchup on eggs is good,” Sunday counters.

Mia squints at her. “Whose side are you on, then?”

She shrugs. “No one’s, I was just saying my feelings.”

“You have to pick a side,” Mia says, then nudges her. “Pick my side.”

“I’m team hot sauce, personally,” Liam offers.

Mia points at him with her fork. “Thank you, Liam, for being right.”

“I'm team ketchup, so it's even,” Sunday says.

“We need Dad,” Amir says.

“Sorry, kiddo, he likes his eggs plain,” Liam says. “Why’s no one eating the bacon?”

Amir and Mia look blankly at him.

“We’re Muslim,” Mia reminds him.

“And I don’t like bacon,” Sunday adds.

Liam sighs. “Shit, I knew there was a reason I quit buying bacon,” he says, pulling the dish of it over to himself.

 

 

*

 

Louis does manage to come along to drop the kids off at school — he goes in his sock feet and pajamas, and makes Liam stop on the way home so he can throw up in some random person’s garden, but he seems to feel better after doing so.

“I'm getting tea with Zayn today,” he mutters when they're almost back home. He's lying back in the reclined passenger seat, a wet rag over his eyes. “I'm gonna tell him about the baby. Babies. An’ he said he's got something he wants to tell me, too. I think it might be that thing you said he mentioned.”

“Lunch? When you can't stop barfing? You can just have him over at the house, I'll make myself scarce.”

“No, I feel better now,” Louis insists.

“Alright…”

“I bet they're boys,” he says. “I was sicker with Amir than with Mia.”

“Didn't you keep having to run backstage to throw up, with Mia? You threw up while we were filming Drag Me Down.”

“Yeah, but I wasn't as nauseous. It just came on sudden, like at random. I think bein’ under hot lights made it worse.” Louis sniffs. “Aw, I remember backstage… you used to hold my in-ears so I didn't get puke on ‘em.”

“Oh yeah.”

“And Harry had to do bits with the audience to make up for us taking so long…”

He smiles. “I remember.”

 

*

 

He and Zayn had agreed to meet in an overpriced tearoom downtown, which Louis figures is perfect, because the most he thinks he can stomach right now is tiny portions of finger foods.

Zayn is late, but they seat Louis without him. For a hipster place, the decor is fairly old-fashioned. He feels very out of place amongst the lacy table settings and thick lavender draperies. The only other people here are a group of little old ladies in the other corner, and, inexplicably, two guys in business suits.

Louis is finally taking a reluctant sip of his decaffeinated, watery tea when Zayn appears, winding his way through the maze of empty tables.

When they make eye contact, Zayn shrugs to indicate the room at large and mouths, “The fuck?”

Louis laughs. “I dunno,” he says. “I’d heard this place was good.”

“Good to  _die_  in?” Zayn reaches him and drops a kiss on his cheek. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Louis says, smiling.

Zayn settles across from him. He looks less peaked than last time, but his hair’s swept back, and it's making him look every year of thirty for once. Louis studies him for a moment, then glances down at his menu.

“The fuck is a brioche tea sandwich?” Zayn mutters.

“So what did you wanna tell me?” Louis says.

Zayn glances up. “You got no patience at all.”

“No, but you knew that about me.”

“What's your thing? ‘Cos I think I can guess.”

Louis’ heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

The waiter comes over, and Zayn orders a cup of tea and some finger sandwiches.

“You wanna share deviled eggs?” he says to Louis.

Louis swallows so he doesn't gag. “No eggs, please. Can I get a cranberry scone, mate?”

“Sure,” the waiter says, and takes their menus.

Louis watches him go, and sees that a harpist has begun setting up in the corner.

“Jesus,” he says. “I think we're at Buckingham Palace.”

Zayn snorts. “How's the tea?”

“Could be better, could be worse.”

“I'll chance it.”

They look at each other across the table. Zayn’s dark gaze becomes sort of penetrating, and Louis glances down at his cup again.

“You're pregnant, aren't you?” Zayn says, in that cavalier way of his.

“Shit!” The old ladies in the corner look over, and Louis drops his voice. “How? How’d you know?”

“It's your face,” Zayn says, gesturing at his own with a languorous flick of his index finger. “Dead giveaway, every time. You get puffy, like.”

Heat rises in Louis’ cheeks. “Cheers!”

The waiter drops off Zayn’s tea. Zayn shrugs and reaches across the table for the sugar. “Thought we agreed to be totally honest with each other.”

“Not excluding white lies! You don't need to tell me my fuckin’ face is fat…”

“I didn't say  _fat_ , bruv, I said puffy.”

”You know,” Louis says, “if you ever find yourself wondering why we ain’t together anymore...”

Zayn laughs. The harpist starts to play, and they grin at each other in sly mockery.

“Well, anyway,” Louis says, “obviously, yeah. I'm pregnant.”

Zayn nods slowly, running his teeth over his bottom lip. “On purpose?”

“For once.”

Zayn laughs. Louis does a self-conscious little shrug, folding his arms over himself. “Um… it’s twins, actually.”

Zayn’s mouth falls open. “Noo,” he says, with genuine surprise. “No shit?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, smiling wanly. “Got an oven full of buns.”

“Reckon you come by it honestly. And the buns are Liam's?”

“No, they're the postman’s. I’m hoping Liam doesn't notice.”

Zayn laughs.

“You happy for me?” Louis says, in a littler voice than he means to.

Zayn gazes at him for a while, smiling sort of distantly. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. I am.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I know you don't love that I ended up with him.”

“Shit happens,” Zayn says. “But, y'know, ‘e takes care of you. I trust him with you. And he doesn’t overstep with my kids.”

“Well, he's got his own daughter, he gets it.”

“Right. So, I mean, yeah.” Zayn shrugs. “For a long time it really fuckin’ ticked me off that he got you back, after everythin’ he put me through over you two. But I saw it coming from miles away, anyway. And if you wanted it so bad, then, like, whatever."

Louis sighs. "Guess that's as much enthusiasm as I could hope for, from you."

“Look, I'm glad you're happy, I'm glad the kids like him. That's all that matters.”

“They're gonna have half-siblings,” Louis says. “That okay?”

Zayn gets a sort of complicated look on his face. “I knew your life wasn’t gonna end just ‘cos we split up, Louis. I mean, I’d prolly like more kids of my own, someday.”

Louis feels a bitter pang at the idea of Zayn having a baby with someone else. He wonders if Zayn is feeling the same pang sitting across from him right now. “Right,” he murmurs.

“As long as the kids are happy about it, that’s what I’m focused on.”

Louis nods. “I think they will be.”

Zayn’s eyes flick back and forth, like he's trying to find something in Louis’. “Are  _you_  happy?”

"Yeah, absolutely. Really, really happy."

"Happy it's twins, though?"

He lets out an exhale and takes another sip of his milky, weak tea. “Yeah? I mean, I didn't plan for two more kids. I didn't plan for a full time stepdaughter, either.” He shrugs helplessly. “But I didn't plan for Mia… I didn't plan for Amir… Sort of got used to not planning for this shit. I dunno if you can plan anything, in life.”

Zayn stirs his tea. The sun moves from behind a cloud; suddenly the room is cast in a hazy glow. “And you love Liam,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, ‘course I do… I really wanted to have a kid with him. So, I'm happy.”

“Good,” Zayn says, sounding sincere about it.

The waiter comes by with their little sandwiches and scone.

“That's gonna be a full house, five kids,” he adds. “Lemme know whenever you need me to take ours off your hands.”

“Whenever you like,” Louis says, picking at his scone. “That's been the deal. I've always worried you don't like that I get four days and you get three.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I get the weekend, so it basically works out to the same amount of time.”

“Still, though.”

“‘S’all good, Louis. I'm good with how things are arranged. If I wasn't… trust me, I'd let you know.”

“Yeah, you're good like that.”

Zayn reaches under the table and squeezes his knee. “You two not gonna have any more kids after this, then?”

Louis chokes on inhaled scone crumbs. “No, no, absolutely not. I’m thinking of getting me tubes tied when these come out, actually.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, that's it, I'm done. Four kids? I'm done, never doing this again, no.”

“Testy,” Zayn says, amused.

“I'm hormonal, and this tea is shit.” Louis looks up from his scone. “Hey.”

Zayn lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“What was your thing?”

He blows out a breath. “Was hoping you might forget.”

“Nah, mind like a steel trap, me.” Louis taps his temple. “Least before I get pregnancy brain again and start leaving my wallet on top of me car an’ shit. Go on.”

A few tables away, the weirdo businessmen are packing up and getting ready to go, exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands. Zayn watches them for a moment, then turns back to Louis. He heaves a breath out and rubs at his eye. “Ahh…”

“What?” Louis’ brow knits. “It's not bad, is it?”

Zayn smiles ruefully and is quiet for a while before saying, “You're gonna think I'm stupid for it, but it's not ‘appening anymore, so… not bad, exactly.”

Louis stares at him with anxious apprehension. “Okay?”

Zayn runs his tongue over his teeth. “Ah… you're gonna hate it, too.”

“Am I?” Louis looks down at his lap, and settles his hands against his middle.

“Hate’s a bit strong, but…”

“Zayn, just spit it out.”

Zayn settles his leather-clad elbows onto the table, studying Louis. “Me and Harry were having an affair for most of this summer.”

Louis goes so light-headed he has to grab the table. “As in  _Styles_?”

“There another Harry in our lives?”

“The one who's  _married?_  To a  _prince_?”

Zayn nods.

“You two haven’t talked in a decade!”

He puts a hand up. “Tommo… it’s over. Me and him, it's over.”

“When did this start? Why didn't you tell me?”

The old ladies shoot them another dirty look. He cuts his eyes at them, and they look away.

“Louis,” Zayn says, in his calm-down voice, his hand still in the air.

“Your thing is  _so_  much worse than my thing!” he hisses.

“Lou _-is_. It's  _o-_ ver.”

Louis makes a funny breathy, hiccupy noise without meaning to.

Zayn reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Can I explain?”

He nods.

“It sort of just happened,” Zayn says. His voice is low and raw, like what he's saying is difficult for him. “I ran into him at Fashion Week… right after he got married. We, y’know. Hooked up. And I thought it was a one-off, ‘cos he's got this deal with his husband where they can sleep with anyone they want, but just the once.”

Louis makes a face at this lechy disregard for monogamy.

“Lemme finish the story,” Zayn says, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So…” he inhales. “It wasn't a one-off. We got in touch again, I reached out, and we kept hooking up. And we talked, and sort of started to get to know each other again. And all these feelings came back. But it was, like — I dunno, his husband’s really controlling, and he was like, ’avin’ me followed and shit —”

“ _What_?”

“Let me get through this, alright? This isn’t easy for me, to tell you all this.”

“Alright,” Louis mutters, while Zayn drains the rest of his tea.

“I dunno, like… I really thought he might leave him? I'm fully aware of how stupid that sounds.”

“Oh, Zayn…”

“He needs to leave him.” Zayn looks up with a defiant glint in his eye. “He's bad fuckin’ news, this guy.”

Louis stays silent. He doesn’t know the first thing about Angelos, having met him only briefly at the wedding. He’d seemed perfectly charming, then; he’d doted in Harry, been solicitous of Anne.

Then again, Niall doesn’t like Angelos. He never has. He pretends at it, but it’s not quite convincing, at least not to Louis. And if there’s anything he trusts, it’s Niall’s gut.

“He's got Harry wrapped around his pinky,” Zayn continues. “And Harry stays in it ‘cos he thinks his best years are behind him, or somethin’ crazy like that, and probably he likes being royalty, and he wants to have Angelos’s royal babies.”

“For fuck’s sake… Now I'm worried about him! And you, too! Havin’ you  _followed_?”

“Not anymore, he's not,” Zayn says. “Harry called me a month or two ago and broke it off. Then he called again like a week ago, told me he can't be with me, that it's been too long and our lives are too different, and he can't throw away his marriage for me... But,” he says, smiling thinly, “he told me he was in love with me.”

Louis, gripped by a strong wave of nausea, dry heaves into his sleeve.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. Been sick all morning.”

Zayn squeezes his hand. “It's over, me and him.”

“How can it be over when he loves you?”

“Didn't stop  _you_  from leaving me.”

Stung, Louis jerks his hand away.

Zayn sighs. “Sorry. That was unnecessary.”

“Yeah, very unnecessary,” Louis snaps. “I'm not gonna relitigate our bloody divorce with you. You might remember the bit where you cheated on me.”

“Tommo, Tommo, I apologized, please let's not do this.”

“Good, I’d love not to.”

“Either way, me an’ him are over,” Zayn says.

The waiter comes over and refills their tea; they go quiet while he's standing there. The pouring is overloud in the silence. Louis glances at Zayn’s plate and sees he hasn't touched his food.

“I can't believe this,” he mutters, once the waiter’s gone. “What do I do when I see Harry next? Just pretend he hasn't been cheating on his husband with my ex-husband?”

“Not that hard, is it? You two never talk anyway.”

“When we're doing band things we do!”

“But what's the band gonna be doing anytime soon? You and Liam are pregnant and engaged, Niall’s engaged, Harry’s got Lord Fucko, and he's trying to get pregnant too —”

“Are you in love with him?”

Zayn’s handsome face shadows. The line of his mouth flattens. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I — alright, yeah, probably!”

“God...”

Zayn swallows and looks down at his tea. “I don't wanna — look, it's over.”

“Zayn… c’mon, you look so sad, talking about this. And I know something's been wrong, lately. You've been distant, an’ just, like, not yourself, y’know. And I knew it wasn't Natalie.”

“No,” Zayn says with a wry smile. “It wasn't Natalie.”

Louis finds himself feeling claustrophobic and hot under the collar. “Can we go?” he says. “I wanna talk about this like, in the car, or somewhere else — not this fuckin’ — whatever this place is —”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, lemme pay.”

Louis swallows. “Alright.”

Zayn tosses a few handfuls of cash on the table and they stand up, their chairs scraping on the wood floor. The old ladies look relieved to see they're leaving.

“So,” Zayn says, looking at Louis’ middle. “Twins?”

“Twins. Wanna feel?”

Zayn gives him the briefest of touches, two or three seconds of his palm pressed to the warm swell under Louis’ shirt, then he rubs his thumb lightly over him and lets his hand fall away.  

*

 

Zayn took a town car here, so Louis drives him back to his place. They're almost out of the city when Louis pulls over and parallel parks outside a movie theater, nestling the car between two SUVs, and turns to Zayn.

“Are you gonna fight for him?” he says.

Zayn glances sidelong at him. He's silent for a long moment, then shrugs.

“Maybe you should,” Louis says.

“Weird thing to hear from you, of all people.”

“I know. But I don't like seeing you like this.”

“It was a bad idea,” Zayn mutters. “Getting involved. I'll move on. ‘S’fine.”

Louis searches his face, then asks with great difficulty, “Did you have feelings for Harry when we were married? You ready to admit that?”

Zayn exhales heavily. “Look, bro, I had a lot of shit going on when we were married —”

“Just answer me, please.”

“I mean. Yeah. Reckon I did, a bit. I wasn't over him, no.” Zayn fixes him with a wounded look. “But you definitely weren't over Liam.”

“No,” he says huskily. “I wasn't.”

“Life goes on,” Zayn says.

“If he's in  _love_  with you —”

“Fairly big if. Don't even think that weirdo knows what love is.”

“Don't put up this front with me. Obviously you care about him. Obviously this is tearin’ you up inside.”

Zayn flaps his hand and looks out the windshield, his eyes flinty.

“Zayn… you know how I hate the idea of you and him, probably as much as you hated me and Liam —”

“Doubt that,” Zayn says. “But go on.”

“I want you happy.” Louis rubs at his nose, which is prickly-itchy from the stupid waves of hormonal sadness that keep crashing over him. “I want him happy, too. You should fight for him. I really think that.”

Zayn shakes his head, his jaw tight. “That ain't me. I don't go and make a fucking idiot of myself over somebody ‘cos they're too much of a pussy to live their life properly.”

“You fought for me,” Louis says, tenderly. “We didn't have to make a go of it when I came home. You didn't have to be with me… I was so bitter, so angry with you, and you were launching your career. But you took me in, you were willing to work on us.”

“You didn’t  _need_  me,” Zayn mutters.

Louis laughs. “Yeah, I did. I was a fallen boy. Our team was about to ship me off to the Magdalene laundries.”

“Very funny.”

“I did need you, love. I didn’t want to do it alone. And you loved me.”

“Yeah.”

“And you knew that with enough time, I'd remember I loved you too.”

Zayn seems to struggle for a while before he says, simply, “Yeah.”

“Harry cares for you loads,” Louis says. “He was so fuckin’ hurt after Mia, and after you and me got married. He was actually a right cunt to me about it. Obviously he never stopped thinking of you as his.”

“Think he just misses one of the only people who’s willing to call him on his shit,” Zayn murmurs.

“Yeah, well.”

They're quiet for a while. Louis looks out the passenger side window, watching people go by on the sidewalk.

“I feel stupid,” Zayn mutters, and he looks seventeen again, then, so vulnerable, his mouth drawn in by hurt. “I got so caught up in it… But I'm a grown man with kids. I can't be running around wiv some married guy, getting followed by detectives...”

“Zayn,” Louis says, in a gentle tone. “He told you he loves you for a reason. Harry doesn't do anything without a reason, he doesn't do anything without thinking about it. He must want you to fight for him.”

“What have I even got to offer, here?”

“Shared history? Shared interests and ambitions? Stability? The fact that you haven't been able to get over each other after nearly fifteen years?”

“His ‘usband’s, like, a  _prince_.”

“Hey,” Louis says, “he ain't a  _real_  prince. He's like them Mountbatten upstarts, or whatever.”

Zayn lifts an eyebrow.

“Me and Payno’ve just got into  _The Crown_.”

He snorts. “What’s with you two getting into shows years after they end?”

“Look, do whatever you want, mate. Keep havin’ shit relationships with underwear models, if you like. Or you can have a go at something real. What's the point of all this work you've put into yourself if you're not gonna let someone share your life with you?”

“Alright,” Zayn says, and puts a hand up. “I've heard your thoughts, I'm processing, and I’m gonna ask you not to press me on it. Just let me think.”

“Okay.”

“It's only been a week since he said… what he said. I dunno if he's even in the country right now. I've got no idea what my next move is gonna be.”

“Take my thoughts into consideration, at least.”

“I always do, pushy-arse!”

“Alright!” Louis starts the car and looks over his shoulder, waiting for a gap so he can pull out.

“Hey, uh… is Christmas different this year?”

“Is what what?” he says distractedly, squinting in annoyance at a Tahoe that's moseying up the road at least ten miles below the speed limit.

“Since you and Liam are serious shit, now. I dunno if you were gonna spend any time with his parents, or anything.”

“Nah, no plans to. I mean, we’re all gonna be staying at my place in London like last year, but we’ll take separate cars on Christmas again. I'm in Donny in the morning, then with you all in the evening.”

“What about when you've got kids with him?”

Louis maneuvers out into traffic, grimacing as he barely avoids dinging the bumper in front of him. The sun shines like daggers into his eyes; he tosses the visor down. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“And his folks don't want to see you over the holidays? Touch your stomach, coo over you? You think Karen's not gonna want to stuff you full of ham?”

“Now who's being pushy?”

“I don't want a fight later,” Zayn says. “I'm trying to head this off.”

“Maybe I can leave our kids with you in Bradford and head to Liam’s from there, or whatever.”

“There enough time in the day for that?”

“Or you could take our kids straight from Donny and I can head off to meet Liam and the… these,” he says, gesturing at his middle. “When it comes around, let’s just ask the kids what they want to do and go from there.”

“Alright,” Zayn says. “It's just it's gonna be a change.”

“Look, I don't feel comfortable discussin’ this,” Louis says. “I'm only ten weeks along. I'm not totally in the clear yet. So don't have me planning Christmas.”

Zayn’s quiet, then reaches over and squeezes his thigh. “Sorry… I always forget.”

“My miscarriage?”

“Yeah.”

Louis clears his throat. “I forget about it too, normally. Until a couple months ago.”

He doesn’t like to dwell on it; it had been ultimately been a relief to lose that pregnancy, to have the burden lifted, to be granted a last-minute reprieve. But now that the mechanics of it are real in his mind, he’s doubly aware of how fragile the life in him is and how easily it’s snuffed. He wonders lately how awful it would feel to lose a wanted baby, Liam’s baby, a baby they hoped and wished for.

“Reckon you're fine,” Zayn says. “Doctor say you're fine?”

“Doctor says I'm fine.”

“Then you're fine.”

“One of ‘em could still eat the other,” he mutters.

Zayn laughs.

“And I can’t say anythin’ to Liam about it, ‘cos he's already worried to start with.”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I had to tell my doctor about it, and he comes to all the appointments, so.”

“What, and he thinks you’ll have another?”

“Well, obviously it’s opened his eyes to the possibility. I’m older, now, besides. Last time I had a baby, I was twenty-five.”

“You both need to chill,” Zayn says. “Smoke a bowl. It'll be fine.”

“Dunno if smoking a bowl is medically recommended,” he jokes. “I'll have to check my baby book.”

“Think of it statistically,” Zayn suggests. “That's what I do for anxiety, a lot of the time. I read about shit, and I'm like, right, this has only got a point oh five chance of happening, so what am I worrying about it for?” He glances over at Louis. “Worrying never stopped anything bad from happening.”

Louis finds himself sincerely comforted by this. “Thanks, mate.”

“No problem.”

“Hey, we've got time before the kids are out of school, you want to get In-N-Out?” He rolls to a stop at a light and glances over at him. “You barely ate anything.”

Zayn rubs at his brow. “Maybe.”

“I'm stopping, so at least have a few of my fries.”

“I thought you were sick.”

“I was, but now I'm hungry, keep up. I'm eating for three.”

Zayn snorts. “I'll ‘ave a couple fries.”

“Good. You look thin.”

“I am thin.”

“Thinner than usual.”

Zayn grunts. Louis decides to take this as acquiescence.

“This thing with Harry,” he says. “You're okay, right? This isn't gonna, like…”

Zayn reaches over and squeezes his thigh. “I'm not gonna relapse.”

“I just worry about you.”

“I know.”

“I probably always will, but…”

Zayn runs his hand up and down Louis’ leg. “I'm doing really well. I told you, AA’s going great.”

“Okay. You know I'm here if that, y’know… if it's ever a problem.”

“I know.” Zayn squeezes him again, then removes his hand. “Thanks.”

 

*

 

“Liam,” Louis calls as soon as he steps into the foyer, shrugging out of his hoodie. “Liam Liam!... Payno! Oi!”

Sunday pops up at the end of the hall, startling Louis, who didn't hear her coming. “I think he's working out,” she says.

“Thanks, love.”

Louis finds Liam in the basement gym, shirtless and hitting the bag. He takes a seat on a pylobox, watching him as he pounds away, reflected endlessly in the mirrored walls.

After a minute or so, Liam tugs an earbud out and slows his punches, like he's cooling down. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Louis says.

“I saw Zayn at kiss and ride,” Liam says.

“Yeah, I dropped him by his car after tea, I think he went to get the kids from there.”

“I figured. I thought you’d beat me home.”

“I was driving around,” Louis says. “Thinking.”

Liam stops punching and grabs a towel off the floor next to him, rubbing his face off. Louis watches him. He likes how Liam's muscles stand out against his skin when he's just worked out.

“Thinking about what?” Liam says, slipping the towel around his neck and glancing up.

“You-u,” he flirts.

“Mmm,” Liam says, smiling. He comes over to him, and Louis tosses his arms around his neck, stroking the back of his head. “No, really.”

“Zayn dropped a bit of a bombshell on me.”

Liam wraps his arms around Louis, pulling him in tighter against his hot, sweaty body. Louis grins at him.

“He likes his bombshells, Zayn,” Liam murmurs.

“He does.”

“So what was it?”

“He had an affair with Harry this summer,” Louis says. “And Harry’s in love with him, apparently. And it’s maybe mutual. But they broke it off in spite of that.”

Liam’s mouth falls open, and his eyes go round. “Christ! The fuck?”

“I know.”

“That  _really_  wasn't what I thought it was gonna be!”

“What'd you think?”

“I dunno, that he was moving, or something?... Wait, Harry’s in  _love_  with him?”

“So he says.”

Liam is completely flabbergasted. “Harry's married!”

“I know, lad, we were at the wedding. We had the salmon.”

He looks away, his dark brow knit, then glances back at Louis. “And how are you taking this?”

“What d’you mean?” Louis says, a bit too innocently.

“I'm just thinking, like, you and Harry’ve had your share of drama over Zayn.”

“I’ve got some distance from that,” he hedges. “‘Course I'm not, like,  _thrilled_ , or anythin’.”

“No,” Liam says, searching his eyes. “Would be weird if you were.”

“But I'm really not as bothered by it as I’d expect to be.”

“Uh-huh,” Liam says in disbelief.

“What?”

“Your voice is doing that thing it does when you’re full of shit.”

“No, no. It’s not making me feel at  _all_  insecure that my cheating ex-husband figured out I was pregnant in about five seconds today, ‘cos I'm having  _twins_ , so I'm already, quote,  _puffy,_  then told me he spent all summer hooking up with my tall, perfect, leggy ex-best mate, and oh, my fiancé’s beautiful ex-wife is leaving him voicemails telling him she's still in love with him —”

Liam laughs and buries his face in Louis’ chest. “Noo… oh, Tommo…”

“I’m being mature, and having perspective about all this.”

“Lovey, angel,” Liam murmurs, kissing him on the chest. “Have I told you lately how much I love you? That you're my favorite person in the world? The best sex I've ever had? That I want to be buried in the same coffin with you?”

Louis cackles. “Jesus!”

“Too much?”

“You were doing so good ‘til that last one.”

“Did Zayn really say you looked puffy? I'll kick his head in.”

“You know how Zayn is, he just says shit.”

“Well, speaking of Ceci,” Liam says, pulling his sweaty face back from Louis’ chest. “I actually spent all afternoon on the phone with my lawyer, ‘cos she filed some things against me.”

“What?” Louis exclaims.

“It's ‘cos of Thanksgiving. She's saying if she’s not gonna get Thanksgiving, because Sunday doesn't want to go, then she should get Christmas. Which I said was stupid, because I'm English, I don't even want Thanksgiving. And I have full custody, so it's up to me and Sunday where Sunday goes. So she said, y’know, ‘give me joint custody, then!’ Which I know she doesn’t actually want, or have time for right now, but I’ve got to be fucking careful here, ‘cos Sunday’d be so excited about the possibility, but then if Ceci actually got her, it’d be the same shit as when she has her for visits — getting dragged to sets, getting  dragged to parties. Sunday would probably go back into her shell even more... I need to protect her from that as much as possible.”

“Liam, I'm sorry...”

He shrugs. “It's alright. She hasn't even really got a case... I think I was right, though, the voicemail was just meant to rattle me.”

“Hey…” Louis hesitates, then presses forward. “Maybe ask Sunday what she thinks about all this?”

Liam blinks at him. “Is that a joke?”

“Payno…”

“I’ve just said why that’s a bad idea!”

“Look, Ceci’s clearly got regrets,” Louis says. “I know that doesn't count for much, on the face of it. Believe me, I know. But Sunday’s always gonna feel the loss of her. I can't make up for that, and neither can you. There’s got to be a way to handle this where you can protect Sunday, but she still gets more of what she wants.”

“I wish there were! I wrack my brain every day! I can’t just give Ceci free rein to disappoint our kid, when she’s already been so disappointed by her!”

”I know, but Liam... Sunday misses her..."

"But she's only seven!" Liam cries. "She doesn't know she's setting herself up to get disappointed! I do! I have to be the grown-up!"

"I know! I know you do! I know you've got an impossible situation on your hands, babe, I completely get it! Look, I just can't help feeling like Ceci’s voicemail was her being mixed up about wanting to be in Sunday’s life more, and maybe confusing it for wanting you back, ‘cos the last time she was a serious, involved mum was when you two were married, y'know?”

“Maybe, but that doesn't give her a right to jerk me around like this!”

“I didn't say it did, at all! I’m sick of her shit too! I just — it feels like you want to move past her so badly that it seeps into your custody decisions a bit!”

”Are you serious, right now?”

“You and me can't start over, okay? Zayn’s always gonna be in my life, Ceci is always gonna be in yours…”

“I know that!” Liam says hotly.

“Then why do you want to shove the problem away?”

“I don't!”

“Love, you wanted to  _ignore_  a voicemail she left saying she wanted to get back together. That ain't normal.”

Liam visibly struggles for a response to this.

"It isn't like you to be just cold like this —"

“I'm not cold!” Liam cries, with enough bass in his voice that Louis shuts up. “She put me through hell! She used me to live out some little fantasy she had, she used me as a sperm bank, and then she tossed me and our kid aside when she was bored of it all! She just  _walked_  out, walked out on the both of us! I can't believe you're throwing this in my face!”

“Oi! I'm not throwing anythin’ in your face!”

Liam walks away, exhaling heavily.

They don't talk for a moment. Louis tries to breathe deep, until he's a bit more calm.

“I don't want to have separate lives like this,” he says in a small voice. “I don't want to not get to tell you how I feel about things. You know how I am. I blurt out all the thoughts in my stupid ‘ead. I always have. I thought you liked that about me.”

“I do,” Liam says hoarsely. He turns; he's a bit teary-eyed. “And you're not stupid. I want you to tell me how you feel."

"I don't think you do!"

"I do, I do, it's just this knee-jerk thing, I'm sorry..."

“We’re partners,” Louis says emphatically. “In the band, when I fell in love with you, it's ‘cos we were equals, you  _got_  me, and we said exactly what we felt and thought, we never judged each other, there was nothing we couldn't work out. And then suddenly I couldn't have you anymore, and we couldn't talk at all, and you were with Ceci, and I was with Zayn, and a lot of the time I couldn't tell Zayn what I felt ‘cos he was this massive raw nerve, and so was I. And now I finally have this solid, honest relationship with him, but it fucking took getting a divorce to get there, and I finally got  _you_  back, but now I can't even tell you I'm sorry your daughter’s getting bullied without it being this fucking  _thing_!”

Liam swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I am. Maybe I do want to start fresh, sometimes. I want to keep my happy life with you separate from this horrible mindfuck bullshit. I don't want… y'know. And I don't want to stress you out when you're pregnant.”

“You need to let me take care of you,” Louis says, gently. “You can't be takin’ care of me and not letting me in. I don’t care how pregnant I am, healthy marriage doesn't work like that.”

Liam nods. “I know. I do. Try and cut me a bit of slack,” he says, “I dunno if I know what a healthy marriage looks like.”

“I don't know if I do, either,” Louis says, “but I took care of Zayn, and he took care of me. And in the times when we got that bit right, things were good. But I unfortunately couldn't, y'know, magically cure alcoholism or bipolar disorder.”

Liam gives him a wry little smile. “Wow, what are you even good for, then?”

“I know, I'm basically useless.”

He comes over and grips the back of Louis’ head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Louis tweaks one of his nipples, and Liam jerks away, laughing.

“I mean, your parents are happy, aren't they?” Louis says.

He nods. “Sure. But they got married out of practicality, I reckon. They each needed someone else to build a life with. When you're rich, it's different. We don't really need each other, not for basic needs, anyway... If we were busy trying to get a mortgage and a car and keep our jobs, we wouldn't have time to fight about our feelings ‘til we were like, fifty.”

“Maybe.” Louis reaches out for the waistband of his shorts and tugs him close again. “I do need you, though.”

Liam softens. “I need you too.”

“Good.” Louis reaches up and strokes Liam’s stubbly cheek, running his thumb over his full lips. Liam’s eyes twinkle at him. “So we have to figure out how to share the lives we’ve got.”

“I'll be more honest,” Liam promises. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize how insulting that might be. I swear I was just trying to protect our relationship.”

“It’s more than strong enough to survive a bit of ex drama.”

“I know.”

“Hey.” Louis sits up straighter. “Know what I miss doing with you? Writing music.”

Liam nods. “Yeah, yeah, me too.”

“We were gonna do stuff just the two of us, weren't we? But we got caught up with doing things for the band, an’ all that… but, I dunno, I'm pregnant, we’re both taking time off, might be nice to take this chance to collab.”

Liam smiles and leans in to kiss him. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Louis nuzzles his neck, then says, “Alright there, stinky… can you take a shower so we can go make out?”

“I thought you liked me sweaty,” Liam says with a bit of growl in his voice, and flexes at him.

“You serious right now?”

“Alright, I'll shower.”

 

*

Sunday gives Louis a fright in the kitchen — she’s like Amir, so silent and light-footed. He always knows when Mia’s around, she’s constantly slamming cabinet doors, or traveling with a whole pack of her friends, or talking at an entire unnecessary decibel, or dribbling a football indoors. Louis finds the house terribly still and lonesome when she’s not around. He hopes the twins are as loud as she is.

“Hi,” he says to Sunday, quickly tugging his sweatshirt down over his middle so it’s fully concealed, and tossing the now-empty box of Uncrustables he was pilfering onto the counter. “Hope you weren’t lookin’ for these, ‘cos I just ate them all.”

“No, that’s fine, I don’t like the strawberry ones,” Sunday says. “Can I have some hummus?”

“Sure,” Louis says, brushing his hands off and opening the fridge back up. “Just straight hummus? You want a spoon?”

She giggles, dimples flashing. “No, pretzels please.”

She’s always so poised and polite. Louis often envies Liam when they’re trying to get the kids ready to go somewhere, and Sunday is sitting very still in the backseat, careful not to wrinkle her clothes, while his own kids are half-dressed and brawling with each other.

“No carrots?” Louis says. “You normally like carrots.”

“I got a weird carrot in my school lunch the other day,” she says.

“Ahh, still recovering?”

“It was like, bright yellow. And maybe moldy.”

Louis turns and squints at her. “ _How_  much do we pay to send you kids to that school?”

Sunday contemplates this, then says with no irony whatsoever, “A lot?”

He grins. “Correct. Where’d your dad get off to?”

“I think he’s in the studio,” she says.

“Right, right, he had some work to finish up.” Louis grabs the pretzels, and a Diet Coke for himself. “Wanna keep me company in the den? I’m trying to finish watching all the garbage on the DVR.”

“Definitely,” Sunday chirps.

 

CALABASAS, OCTOBER 31, 2024

The kids have a great Halloween. Amir and Mia go as a lion and a lion tamer, respectively; Sunday goes as a witch. All three of them get swept up in a pack of neighborhood kids that leads a locust-like assault on the gated community, with the older ones leading the way as they consult social media-distributed maps of where the best candy is.

Liam, Louis and Zayn linger about a half-block behind them, keeping an eye out as the sun goes down over the rolling hills.

Louis is somewhat on edge. He thinks the full implication of the Harry thing hadn't really set in fully the other day, or maybe he was just less hormonal, then, but now being around Zayn is making him feel stupid and insecure, and helpless. He had a dream the night after Zayn told him, that Harry and Zayn got married and adopted Mia and Amir as their own, then moved to a farm in the French countryside.

“What do you care?” they said to him when he objected. “You have so many kids already!” And Liam appeared and said, “Yeah, babe! Don't you remember? We've got ten kids of our own!”

Louis woke up all sweaty and hissed “Don't you dare” at a still-sleeping Liam. Liam just snored a little and rolled over.

He figures he just needs some time to process it, so he lingers behind Zayn and Liam, unintentionally forcing them to make awkward small talk to each other as they rack up a few miles of walking on the well-manicured Calabasas sidewalks, flanked on the right by the towering, stately gates of their fellow mansion-dwellers.

“... at RCA, after that thing with James,” he hears Liam say, up ahead.

Zayn laughs. “Oh, yeah, Louis punching him?”

“I didn't  _punch_  him,” Louis says, and they both stop and turn to look at him. “I just smacked him in the mouth. You ought to remember, you were there.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, grinning. “Funny shit.”

Liam glances between them.

“I’m not too proud of it,” Louis says, a bit sourly.

“I mean, I’ve wanted to smack James a few times, myself.”

“Yeah, I don't think either of you are alone there,” Liam says with a chuckle.

“He had it coming,” Zayn says.

“That's not what you said about that Maddie kid,” Louis says.

Zayn snorts. “Nah, she had it coming too. Just don't want our kid to get kicked out of school, ‘s’all. I like that she stands up for her principles.”

“Me too,” says Louis.

Up ahead, the kids slow to a halt as they stop to compare loots. The adults follow suit, and Zayn turns to Louis.

“So when are you telling the kids about the babies?” he says, flicking his eyes over him, settling briefly on his middle and coming back up to his face. He's lit up eerily from behind by fairy lights that someone wrapped around a tree; Louis can't quite see his eyes. He’s like a handsome apparition, ghost of Halloweens past.

Louis glances at Liam. “Soon,” he says. “Sort of trying to straddle it between making it to the second trimester and, like, when it starts getting really obvious.”

“I think he can hide it a bit longer,” Liam says.

Louis, who's presently covered up in a baggy hoodie, nods.

“Alright,” Zayn says. “Just give me a heads-up.”

“I will,” Louis assures him.

The kids start moving again, and they continue on.

 

MANHATTAN, NOVEMBER 1, 2024

“Darling,” Angelos calls.

Harry glances up from his phone. He's been trying on suits for hours; he'd finally decided to take a break and now here come his husband and one of his personal stylists, striding across the airy atrium of the House of Angelos’s New York headquarters.

The two of them cross the hall quickly (Angelos both walks and talks at frenetic speeds and insists anyone in his presence keep up — the former being easy for Harry, and the latter very difficult) to stop short in front of him. Harry rises elegantly and models the suit for them.

“Lovely,” Angelos says, nodding. “I can see you in that at the Grammys.”

“I can too,” Olympia says.

Harry shrugs. “Sure.”

“You don't have an opinion?” Angelos smooths out an invisible crease in his own suit, which is linen, despite the season.

“I’ve been trying on suits all afternoon, I stopped having strong opinions a while ago.”

“Olympia,” Angelos says curtly, “please go fetch a measuring tape, I don't think this is tight enough in the waist.”

Olympia nods and hurries off in the direction they came. She must have known she was being dismissed, because there's a tape measure lying on a table two feet away, next to a vase of freshly cut lilies.

“Why are you so petulant?” Angelos snaps at him when she's gone.

“I like to make my own fashion decisions.”

“You are!”

“No. I'm picking from pre-chosen options.”

He fetches a pincushion and comes behind Harry, beginning to pin the waist of the suit tighter. “You're representing  _me_ , and my brand. So it's my options.”

“I can't breathe,” Harry mutters.

“Sorry.” Angelos loosens the fabric a bit. “But it ought to be snug.”

He tries to exhale.

“I want to tell you something else,” Angelos says. “I don't want to reverse my vasectomy until after the Met Gala. I want to put clothes on  _this_  body.”

“Great. That's seven months away.”

“I'm not having you pregnant during the biggest season for fashion. I don't understand why you won't just use a surrogate.”

“I want to have my own fucking baby, if I'm having one.”

“Fine.” He sticks another pin in. “Just give me the Met Gala first.”

“Maybe I want a baby  _now_ ,” Harry retorts.

“I don't know why you're so impossible,” Angelos huffs. “I give you everything.”

He swallows hard. They lapse into silence.

 

*

 

Angelos comes to bed late that night, with a glass of port in his hand. Harry’s reading a magazine and drifting off; his husband nudges him awake.

“Look,” he says. “Clear night.”

Harry glances out the bedroom window, which takes up an entire wall. The Manhattan skyline is sprawled in all its glittering glory. He’s right — the smog isn’t as bad as usual. He takes the glass of port and downs half of it in one go.

Angelos smiles at him. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

Harry smiles too, tipping his head back. “Wanna have sex?” he says, licking the port off his lips.

Angelos nods and goes about taking off his clothes. Harry just slips out of his robe and lies there on the bed, feeling like a doll. All long limbs and finely cut muscle and creamy skin. No organs — dolls don’t have organs. No yawning empty uterus. No broken heart.

It’s the worst sex they’ve ever had, flying right in the face of Harry’s fleeting moment of desire. He tries desperately to stay in his head, to be in the moment, but all he can think about is Zayn. Over and over, endlessly, he fills Harry’s head and crowds out everything else. Angelos kissing him is like being interfered with by an octopus. He doesn’t even recognize his husband. He doesn’t recognize his cock. He doesn’t recognize his obscene noises. He barely recognizes himself.

Harry flits out of his body, watches himself from the ceiling as he moans, self-consciously writhes, acts. By the time they finish, he isn’t even hard. He lies there and looks up at the chandelier, flaccid and full of useless come.

“Can I have the first shower?” he says.

Angelos looks unhappy about this. “Alright,” he says. “Be fast.”

Harry nods and goes into the bathroom. He doesn’t turn the main lights on, but wanders into the waterfall shower, turns it on and flips on the the LEDs. They glow blue overhead as he sits there under the hot water, numb. He hopes it’ll pound out the sore muscles in his neck a bit. His shoulders are constantly tight, lately.

“You can't keep doing this,” he mutters to himself, and marvels at how stupid that sounds out loud.

There's no moment of great clarity, then. The earth doesn’t shatter. He doesn't stand up in the shower and march, wet and naked, into the grand opulence of their bedroom and scream at Angelos that he's had it. And in saying it out loud he doesn't feel his head break above the water.

But Harry does feel himself turning, turning slowly away from safety and moving, as if through fifty kilometers of quicksand, toward the absolute unknown.

 

 

CALABASAS, NOVEMBER 6, 2024

Liam wakes early from a series of weird, disjointed dreams. He lies there rubbing at his dry eyes and squinting against the bright white light pouring in the windows.

He's spooning Louis, who's stirring against him. His morning wood is pressed to the swell of Louis’ arse.

“Hi,” Louis says, his voice low and scratchy. He shifts on the pillows. “That for me?”

“Yeah,” Liam murmurs, and presses a kiss to the back of his neck, where his skin is soft and he smells like shampoo. He reaches around and strokes Louis’ own stiff cock. “This for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Louis purrs.

Liam pinches him on his arse, and Louis sits up, pushing him onto his back against the bed with a grin, and climbing on top of him.

They start to fuck without talking; Louis rides him hard, working his hips torturously while Liam moans underneath him.

“You’ve got such a nice cock,” Louis breathes as he bounces.

Liam groans, his eyelids fluttering. “Hhh-mhh.”

He comes in just a few minutes, and Louis rides him past his orgasm until he's completely incoherent and his spine is tingling. When he can manage it, he rolls Louis over onto his back, hard. They grin at each other and kiss.

“You can't look at me like that in front of the kids,” Louis says, gazing up at him. “They'll think we have sex.”

“What, us? Never.”

“Suck me off,” Louis suggests.

“Was just about to...”

Liam slides south on the Egyptian cotton sheets, kissing Louis first on his collarbones and pecs and in the hollow of his sternum, then down to the rounding of his belly.

“I can't believe there's two babies in there,” he says, and kisses it more.

“Me neither,” Louis murmurs. “I forget all the time.” He nudges Liam. “Cock’s a bit lower, love.”

Liam laughs deep in his throat. “I'm getting there…”

 

*

 

Liam gets dressed while Louis washes up. He's slipping a watch onto his wrist and cinching it when Louis comes out of the toilet, clearing his throat.

“Hey,” Liam says to him. “I was thinking we could grill out tonight, then tell the kids?”

“I'm out with the lads tonight,” Louis says.

“Right, forgot. Tomorrow?”

“Zayn's got my kids tomorrow.”

“Monday?”

Louis tilts his head. “Hey pushy.”

“Hey avoidy,” Liam shoots back.

He gives him one of those looks of his, the look of the maligned innocent. “Relax, Payno.”

“You're twelve weeks pregnant as of tomorrow. You’re showing.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So we ought to tell people.”

“We’ve been tellin’ the adults in our life,” Louis says. “We told our family, friends, our reps, I told my manager, I told my agent.”

“I know… so let's tell the kids.”

Louis inhales. “Monday, then. Fine.”

“What's up?” Liam takes him by the waist and slow dances him over to the bed, then sits on the edge of it, holding Louis between his legs. Louis snorts and runs his hands through Liam’s hair, messing it up.

“Nothing,” Louis says. “Just that, y'know.”

“What do I know?”

“I mean, I'm tight with me kids.”

“I'm not tight with my daughter?”

“No, but — we still had this little unit going on, even after the divorce, and I feel weird basically tellin’ them, like, that era’s officially over —”

“It's been a year since we moved in together,” Liam gently reminds him. “And just the other day you were shouting at me that we need to be moving toward more together lives.”

“I know,” Louis mutters. “You're right. I did.”

“I get that it's hard.”

“Do you, though?”

“D’you think me and Sunday are strays you picked up off the road, that we’re just grateful to be adopted?” Liam says, trying not to let hurt creep in his voice. “Just ‘cos her mum isn't involved like Zayn is, and it was just the two of us for a while?”

“No, no!” Louis sits down on his lap and wraps his arms around him. “No, love, of course not… Jesus. You know how much I love you and Sunday, I'm so grateful you two wanted to make a family with us. It's just, y’know, like you said, Ceci’s not in her life much, and Sunday’s so mellow, I can't imagine her taking this hard.”

“We had our own routine too, me and her, okay? I felt weird enough myself, tossing her into this big loud house full of big personalities.”

“Oi, who's loud?” Louis jokes.

“But we've all adjusted, the kids get on well. None of them are gonna be scarred for life by you and me giving them a couple siblings.”

“No, they won't be,” he agrees.

“And the fact is, Tommo, this isn't something we can hide.” Liam strokes his back. “I dunno how many days in a row you can get away with dressing like you're trying to shoplift a ham. Definitely not for much longer."

Louis wraps his arms around Liam's neck and kisses him on the cheek. “I know, I know,” he says, his voice little and scratchy.

Liam cups a hand to the gentle swell of his belly under his Ramones tee. “Then let’s get a move on, let's tell them we're pregnant."

Louis tips his head. "Who's we?"

" _You're_ pregnant, 'scuse me."

"Thank you. Zayn used to pull that shit all the time, drove me bonkers."

"I see you changing the subject," Liam says, grinning. "Come on. You know we're running down the clock, here."

“I got papped the other day,” Louis says. “Did you see? You can't tell, though, ‘cos they shot me head-on. Actually, I just looked chunky, so that's lovely.”

“You're not chunky,” Liam says, squeezing his thigh. “You look good.”

“You always say I look good,” Louis murmurs, and drags his lips over Liam's stubbly cheekbone.

“You do…”

“You gonna think that even when I'm huge?”

“I will,” Liam promises. “I'm still gonna try to fuck you all the time.”

“Weirdo,” Louis says, but he says it low and sounds pleased.

 

CALABASAS, NOVEMBER 8, 2025

Louis breaks off as he’s mid-sentence to Lottie and glances up when he hears the front door; he’s expecting Liam and Sunday home from her horse show, but they don’t shout for him, so he yells, “Oi, you two! C’mere!”

Lottie laughs at this.

“What?” he says to her.

“Nothing, just ' _you two_ '..."

Liam and Sunday duck into the parlor. She’s happily clutching a blue ribbon, and he looks equally pleased.

”Hey there,” Louis says. “Big win?”

”Big win!” Liam cheers. “Hey Lottie.”

”Hi there!” she says to them. Sunday gives her a little wave. 

“How’ve you been?” Liam asks.

“Really great, really busy. Yourself?”

“Ah, nothing much…” He squeezes Sunday’s little shoulders. “Looking after the kids, doing some producing, a few features. Louis said you’re coming out with a new line?”

“I am,” Lottie confirms, grinning. Louis glances proudly over at her.

“That’s fantastic,” Liam says. “You realize I haven't seen you since your wedding?"

"No!" she says. "There's no way, that can't be right!"

"Swear to God, that was the last time."

"Jeez," Lottie says with relish. "It's really true, the older you get, the faster time goes."

"Seriously," Louis says. "I was fifteen last week."

Liam laughs. "You still are."

"Now, I wanna give you the finger," Louis says, "but I don't want to corrupt your nice daughter —"

Sunday giggles.

"It might already be too late," Liam says, grinning.

"No, she's still innocent," Louis says.

"I am," Sunday says. "I don't know anything."

"Enjoy that," Lottie says. "Before long you'll know too much."

"Right, well, hang on a sec, you two," Liam says, "I’ll come in and catch up, I just want to make sure this one gets some lunch. We've been up since six, been living on protein bars.”

“Nooo!” Lottie exclaims. “Six? That’s barbaric.”

“The times for the low levels are really early,” Sunday says, in that Dickensian waif way of hers. She might as well be telling them about how Mr Bumble doesn’t give her enough gruel. 

“That’s horses for you,” Liam says, chuckling. “Just a cluster-eff in every possible way. Alright… what d’you want, kiddo?”

“Mac and cheese,” Sunday says immediately, like she’s been considering this.

“You two want any?” Liam says to them on the couch, and they both nod eagerly. He scoops up Sunday, who starts giggling, and exclaims in a goofy voice as he carries her off, “I’m the mac and cheese man, I control the mac and cheese, you all better be nice to me!”

Lottie watches them go with a smile, then turns back to Louis, trailing her fingers over the back of their fancy camelback couch. “She’s really into horses, huh?”

“In pretty deep, yeah,” Louis says. “Don’t quite get it, myself, but it makes her happy.”

“She’s a cute kid,” Lottie says. “She looks a lot like her mom.”

Louis tucks his lips in. “Does she?”

”Yeah, you haven’t noticed?”

”Guess I have...”

She arches an eyebrow. ”How’s that’s going, by the way? You and her?”

Louis flicks his gaze to the doorway. “Oh, I got a lot on that subject. Later, though.”

”Ooo-er...”

“Yeah, it’s proper fuckin’ dramatic.”

Lottie eyes him. “You’re not letting anything stress you, though, right?”

Louis laughs. “I’m fine! You all and your fussin’, you don’t need to, I swear.”

“You can’t blame us! It seems like there’s always something crazy going on in your life when you’re pregnant.”

”Ah, not this time,” Louis says. “I promise I’m being plenty lazy.”

Liam calls down the hall, “You all want shells or elbows?”

”Shells!” they shout back.

 

CANOGA PARK, NOVEMBER 9, 2024

“She's gonna take that girl out,” Zayn mutters.

“She better get back into position,” Louis says, glancing down at Zayn and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “She's offsides, she's not gonna make it.”

They both watch intently as Mia streaks across the field like a little torpedo and collides with the girl who's moving toward her goal with the ball. The two of them spin like clothes in a washing machine, and then Mia leaps to her feet and thwacks the ball hugely upfield. The bleachers on either side of the field go up in a mixed outcry of outrage and joy, respectively.

Louis glances sidelong to his left at the other parents (Zayn always insists on sitting about fifteen feet downfield from them, he thinks they're all too loud) hoping she doesn't get fouled for this, or he's going to catch some dirty looks.

Zayn chuckles. “What'd I tell you…”

“Is it okay to hit people in soccer?” Amir says.

“Only if the ref doesn't see,” Louis says. He returns to his seat and collapses into it, shifting in discomfort. His back has started bothering him again, and the babies are already an oppressive presence, pressing on his organs and making him self-conscious. It's a seventy-degree day, and the sun is high in the sky and beating down on them, but he's wearing a big black hoodie and jeans.

“My friend Ashton wants me to join his basketball team,” Amir says. He's sitting in the grass, playing games on his phone. He has a floppy cowlick in his dark hair, today.

“People are still naming their kids Ashton?” Zayn says.

“Love,” Louis says in amusement, “I’d take a look at how tall me and your dad are, and maybe rethink your basketball prospects.”

“I don't really want to play,” Amir says. “It looks dumb. They just run back and forth. I kind of want to play football.”

“You mean this kind of football?” Louis says hopefully, looking at him over the tops of his sunglasses. “Soccer football?”

“No,” Amir says, glancing up. “Tackle football.”

“No,” Zayn says immediately. “No no no. You'll get brain damage, an’ then you'll murder me in my sleep.”

“Yeah, no American football,” Louis says. “It's offensive to our culture.”

“We live in America,” Amir says. “I'm American.”

Louis winces. “I'm just gonna pretend you didn't say that. You are absolutely not American.”

“ _Li-iam_  likes football,” Amir drawls at Louis.

“He's got you there,” Zayn says.

“Liam has several opinions that I politely ignore, boys.” 

“Football looks like fun,” he says, shrugging.

“You haven't got any interest in sports, angel,” Louis says, and grits his teeth against a spiking wave of nausea, dry heaving into his elbow.

“I know, but Ashton says they have pizza parties when they win,” Amir says. “And they get to wear big pads.”

“You wanna wear big pads?” Zayn says, nudging Amir’s leg with his shoe.

“Ma-aybe…” He looks down at the ground and pulls up a handful of grass. He purses his lips, then says, “I wanna do something cool. My friends skateboard, but I just do piano.”

“Hey, uh, music is cool,” Zayn says. “And the older you get, the cooler doing it gets. Which ain't true about sports.”

Mia takes the ball off an offender again, who's left standing there in bafflement as she drives it up the field. Louis lets out a whoop. She glances at him and shakes her head with an amused look.

“You could play this kind of football, like your sister,” Louis suggests.

“Nah,” Amir says. “Soccer’s not as cool.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cos everyone plays it.”

“Isn't Mia cool? I thought she was cool.”

“She's popular,” Amir says. “Cool is different than popular.”

Zayn leans down and proudly tousles his hair. 

Louis snorts and shakes his head. “I dunno what to do with you two. Amir… don't do things just ‘cos they're cool. Being cool is totally beside the point. Do things ‘cos you enjoy them.”

“An’ besides that,” Zayn says, “being cool is doing whatever you want and not caring what anybody else thinks. It's not doing what everyone else is doing.”

“Exactly,” Louis says. “You think Uncle Harry’s cool, right?”

Amir nods eagerly. Zayn shifts in his chair, his jaw tightening.

“Well, he does what he wants, he doesn't worry about what people feel about it.”

“Yeah, he does,” Zayn mutters.

Louis nudges him.

“Okay,” Amir says. “So technically piano is cool?”

“Piano is cool,” Louis says.

When Amir has returned to his phone, Louis mouths  _sorry_  at Zayn.

“Bit passive-aggressive,” Zayn says very quietly, without looking at him.

“What?”

“To bring him up.”

Louis glances sidelong at Amir, who's paying them no mind. “Wasn't my intention.”

“I get that you're not happy about it,” Zayn says, “but it's not happening anymore.”

“It’s not mine to be unhappy about,” Louis mutters. “Anyway, wasn't my intention.”

“Like I can't recognize you needling me?”

Amir looks up in curiosity, then. Louis smiles at him, gets out of his chair and beckons Zayn; they walk a few feet away, further downfield, closer to the goal. Across the field, on right wing, Mia stands watching as the ball gets batted around in front of the opposing goal.

“I wasn't needling you,” Louis says quietly, once they're out of earshot. “Not my fault you're so hung up on him I can't say his name without you starting up. He's in the kids’ life, you know?”

Zayn puts a hand up. “I get it. Don't worry about it.”

“Have you talked to him at all?”

Zayn fixes him with his liquid dark eyes, that inscrutable laser stare. “Why would I ‘ve?”

“Oh, no reason,” Louis deadpans. “Just he's in love with you is all.”

Zayn scoffs.

“Look, I'm not — I can't tell you what to do, but.”

“He doesn't want to be with me,” Zayn says, enunciating every word very carefully and with his teeth very close together, making the words come out like little darts. “He married someone else.”

Behind them, the bleachers go up in cheers.

“Hi, you married  _me_ ,” Louis points out. “You two hadn’t even had an actual conversation in ten years, why wouldn’t he marry someone else?”

“It’s besides the point, Louis. Either way, he doesn't give a fuck.”

“Don't be thick. He's scared. Wouldn't you be?”

“I can't make him not be scared!”

Louis hesitates. “Y’know… Before we got back together, I pushed Liam away, at first. For months, actually.”

Zayn looks surprised. “For real?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously that didn’t last very long,” he says.

Louis shrugs. “I just sort of realized I wasn't happy without him. And taking a risk on even worse unhappiness was better than, like, limbo.”

Zayn’s dark eyes soften for just a moment, and looking into them is like tumbling into a tiger pit. The insecurity is briefly visible. He must really want Harry quite badly.

When Louis told Zayn about Liam, he wrote him a letter, in longhand chicken scratch. He was thinking of how they wrote each other letters when Zayn went to rehab the first time. Louis went to him at RCA and found him in the recording studio, asked the other guys in there if they could give him some privacy. Zayn had looked up at him with curious sleepy eyes as they filed out of the room.

Louis dropped the letter on his lap and took a seat beside him, rolling his chair over, sitting across from him so he could watch Zayn's face. Zayn didn't show much emotion as he read — toward the end, he reached out and settled a hand onto Louis’ thigh. When he finished, he looked up with those same soft eyes and said, “Reckon I expected this,” which was the most painful thing he could have said. Louis just nodded, swallowed over the rough lump in his throat, and looked down at his hands.

“He's just a guy, Harry is,” Louis whispers. 

The halftime whistle blows. Girls pour off the field.

“No, he isn't,” Zayn mutters. “He's a fuckin’ android.”

“No, love, he's a person.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, w’ever.”

“If you didn't care so much, you wouldn't be so angry. And you've got every right to be,” Louis adds, “‘cos he's jerking you around and acting like a fucking idiot, but if what you say is true, his husband’s seriously fucking with his ‘ead right now, and maybe he can't really think straight.”

“I can't fix that!”

“Look, he's out on a ledge, and it sounds like he wants you to help him back in.”

“I dunno how.”

“‘Course you do. Let him know he’d be safe, if he was with you.”

“I told him that.”

“Tell him again.”

“Maybe he  _likes_  the ledge.”

“Yeah. We all do, us. But you can't live on a ledge.”

“Why’re you trying so hard to get me back together with Harry?” Zayn says, searching his face. “A couple years ago, this would’ve been your nightmare.”

Louis inhales. “It's a bit unpleasant, admittedly.”

“Is it?”

“What do you want me to say, Zayn!” he exclaims. “Yeah, it makes me feel really shitty and insecure, and like my jealousy about him when we were together was always justified! But I know that's exactly how you felt when I got back with Liam, so I don't have a right to any of that, now do I? And I want you to be happy!”

“So it's a  _guilt_  thing,” Zayn drawls. “I get it now.”

Louis runs his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Come on! Stop!”

“No, it makes sense. You're like, punishing yourself as penance. Push us together, so you can get over feeling lousy about Liam, I get it.”

“I can't genuinely want you to be happy? Seriously? I can't want the father of my children to be happy, ‘stead of mopin’ around football pitches smoking and scowling like somebody kicked him in the dick?”

“I always look like that,” Zayn jokes, and Louis laughs. “Look, if I got with him, it wouldn't change anythin’ with you and me. You know that. It doesn't undo us.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I do feel sometimes like — I dunno. Like I was a detour for you.”

Zayn snorts. “Like I don’t feel like I was one for you?”

“You weren’t!”

“Well, then, you weren’t one for me.”

“I do want you to get what you want,” he says. “Seriously, genuinely. And, like... at least Harold’s arse is real.”

Zayn lets out a little laugh. They look at each other for a moment, and then to Louis’ surprise, Zayn reaches out to touch his middle.

His touch is more intimate than either of them usually are with each other, since the divorce — Louis’ skin tingles where his hand lands. Zayn tends to absent-mindedly flirt with Louis when he’s lonely like this, like he’s running his fingers over an old tattoo.

“You’re really havin’ a baby with someone else,” he murmurs. “I think it’s only just started sinking in.”

Louis lets out a hitching breath. “Yeah.”

“Sometimes I feel like we were never married,” Zayn says, “and sometimes it feels like it was yesterday, y’know?”

”Oh, mate...”

”I’m just talking. Don’t listen to me..."

Louis finally pushes his hand away, gently.

“I don’t want Amir to see,” he whispers. “Since we haven’t told them…”

Zayn drops his hand and rolls his shoulders back. His dark eyes flick over Louis’ face. “Yeah. I get it.”

Louis swallows back his sudden sadness, and motions for them to head back to their son.

“Hey,” Zayn says  _sotto voce_  as they walk through the grass. “Natalie's arse was real.”

“Seriously?”

“Trust me,” Zayn says, then turns so he's walking backwards and makes a discreet squeezing gesture. Louis cackles and slaps his hands down; Zayn grins at him. Just like that, the tension is broken.

Upon their return they find that Mia has joined Amir; they've taken over their parents’ chairs. She's sitting with her legs slung over the armrest.

“Oi,” Zayn says. “These are for us pensioners with bad backs.”

“I'm tired! I got subbed out for the last quarter ‘cos I've been playing too hard,” Mia says.

“Alright, you're entitled, then.”

“I just sat down ‘cos she did,” Amir says.

Mia laughs.

“You were great out there, kid,” Louis says. “Good hustle.”

“Thanks,” she says, flashing a grin at him. “My team’s going out for ice cream after, can you guys all come?”

“Yeah, lovey,” Zayn says.

“Good,” she says. “Charlotte’s dying to meet my famous dads.”

“Well, tell her she's gonna be disappointed,” Louis says.

Zayn nudges him, grinning. “Speak for yourself.”

 

*

 

Zayn is distracted and antsy at the ice cream parlor; he puts on a good face for the girls and their mums, several of whom are One Direction fans from way back and want to pick their brains, but as soon as he’s left alone he disappears outside and starts chainsmoking in the chilly twilight. Louis watches him from his booth by the window, continually handing napkins to Amir (he ordered a banana split against their advice) and half-listening to Mia debrief with her friends about the game, which they narrowly won.

Zayn comes back in only once. Louis mutely offers him some ice cream, but Zayn responds with a well-disguised dry heave into his sleeve and a shake of the head. 

The kids go to pile in Zayn’s car, after; Louis shuts the door after Amir, then stops Mia and kneels down with her on the sidewalk, pretending like he’s fixing the zip on her jacket.

”Can you try to make sure your dad eats this weekend?” he whispers. “Bother him about it a bit, if you can. He listens to you.”

Mia nods. “I’m on it.”

”I can hear you two,” Zayn yells over to them. He’s leaning against the hood of the car, looking at his phone.

”Shush,” Louis yells back, grinning. “This is a private conversation.” 

“I’m a grown man, I can make sure I’m fed.”

”What’ve you eaten today?” Louis challenges.

Zayn gets a shifty look. “Food.”

”He didn’t eat this morning,” Mia announces to the sidewalk at large. “He just had a cigarette and some coffee.”

”Oi, oi,” Zayn complains. 

“I’m telling the truth,” Mia says, putting her hands on her hips and shooting him a look. “You know I’m right.”

” _Allahu alam_ , Yasmeen...”

”Allah would want you to eat ice cream!”

Zayn lets his sunglasses slip down his nose so he can gape comically at her. Louis cracks up. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing her on the head as he gets to his feet.

 

*

 

True to her word, Mia sneaks out of bed that night and fetches a bag of skinny popcorn out of the pantry, then brings it to Zayn where he’s sitting in his home recording studio, swallowed by darkness save for a reading lamp that’s clipped to the console.

He looks up when she comes in, and sets his book aside. “Hey,” he murmurs, “you should be asleep.”

Mia comes to him and climbs up in his lap, handing him the popcorn. “Hi baba.”

“Hi love...” He takes it and strokes her hair. “You know I’m fine, right? Don’t you worry about me... it ain’t your job to worry about me.”

”Yes it is,” Mia says. “If you love someone, you have to worry about them. That’s the law.”

He chuckles. “It’s the law?”

”Uh-huh.”

Zayn lets out a little exhale, then opens the bag of popcorn and eats a handful. “Good?”

”More,” Mia says, settling back against his chest. His book catches her eye — its title is _Drinking: A Love Story._  

Zayn seems to notice her looking, and flips it onto its back. 

“What’s that about?” she says.

”Grown-up stuff.”

”What kind of grown-up stuff?”

”It’s, ah... it’s by a woman who was sick the same way I was, writin’ about when she was sick, that’s all.”

”Oh,” she says. “So it’s not like, a story? It’s her real life?”

”Aye, yeah, it’s a memoir.”

”Is that like a biography?”

”Smart girl. 'S'like an biography, but you write it about yourself."

“Why are you reading about when this lady was sick?"

”Sometimes it’s nice to read what people write about things that you’ve been through,” Zayn says, and he picks a water bottle up off the console, taking a sip, then eats more of the popcorn. 

“Why?” Mia says, very curious now. "How does it help?"

“It makes you feel less alone.” 

She thinks about this for a few moments. “Do you feel alone?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not the way you’re thinking, lovey. More like it’s nice to be understood.”

“I think I get it.”

”Like someday, you might want to read a memoir from somebody who also had famous parents, y’know? Because that’s something you’re going through that most people don’t.”

Mia has never really considered this. She’s never felt truly alone or misunderstood, because for as long as she can remember, she’s had Amir, and there’s nothing she’s gone through that he hasn’t also. 

“Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe I’ll write it down. And then other people can feel better ‘cos of me.”

”That’s a good idea,” Zayn says, softly. “I hope you do.”

 

CALABASAS, NOVEMBER 11, 2024

Louis wakes up to the shower going in the other room and Liam singing, his voice echoing in the bathroom. He lies there smiling with his hands settled on his middle, happy in the nest of covers.

Liam comes out in a gust of steam with a towel around his neck, his singing transmuted to whistling. He's only got boxers on; as he crawls across the bed to come kiss Louis good morning, Louis yanks them down off his arse.

“Whoa there,” Liam says with a laugh, kissing him on the throat and tossing the towel aside.

“I like when you sing in the shower,” Louis murmurs. “You in a good mood?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, smiling. “Excited to tell our babies about our babies.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, reckon it'll start feeling more real, once we do…”

Louis nods, his head slipping back and forth on their silk pillows. "Sorry," he says suddenly, shoving Liam aside and darting off the bed, racing into the bathroom. "Gonna puke, move, move —"

Liam waits for him to get done retching before tentatively calling, "You need anything?" He seems to have picked up on how it's even odds whether Louis will want him to murmur to him and rub his back, or want him to get as far away as humanly possible.

"No," Louis calls back weakly, resting his forehead on the toilet seat. 

 

*

 

They do grill out that night, like Liam suggested; or rather Liam grills out while Louis sits curled in an armchair on the stone patio with a mug of decaf tea, calling out his input when he thinks the food ought to be turned.

The kids play in the pool for a while, doing Marco Polo or sharks and minnows, something that makes them giggle like loons. Then they climb out and run around the yard, playing with Bo. It's a warm day, but an unusually cloudy and gray one, like the weather conspired to give Louis one last day chance to hide in a big sweatshirt.

“I'm taking your steak off,” Liam says, turning from the grill and clicking the tongs at him. “It's well finished.”

“No, please,” Louis complains. “I don't want to risk it.”

“I checked, it's cooked through, so at this point I'm just turning it into shoeleather.”

“Why’ve you forsaken the cuisine of our mother country, babe?”

Liam chuckles and tosses Louis’ lightly charred steak onto a plate. He looks really handsome, tonight. This week Louis’ hormones keep surging wildly, flipping him back and forth from being annoyed by Liam to making Louis weak in the knees at the very sight of him. 

“Can you change the music?” Louis says. The sun is going down, and a cool breeze zips across the patio. He tugs his sleeves down over his arms.

“Why don't you just connect to the speaker?” Liam says.

“Ow!” Mia shouts from behind them. “Amir, that was my shin!”

“ _So-_ ory,” he yells back insincerely.

Louis turns and calls, “Oi! Come eat dinner!”

Sunday looks up and starts heading over, but his own kids ignore him. 

"KIDS," Louis says. "I'm countin' to three! One... two —"

Mia and Amir snap to attention and follow suit. They know nothing good's ever come from letting Louis make it to three.

“I can't connect,” Louis says, turning back to Liam. “It's not recognizing my phone.”

“Weird,” Liam says. “And Bluetooth is on?”

“‘Course Bluetooth is on.”

Liam hands him his steak. “What d’you want to listen to?”

“Something more dinner vibey,” Louis says, taking it. “Thanks love.”

“Smooth jazz?”

Louis winks at him. “Whatever you feel’s appropriate.”

“Oh, so Danny Brown, then,” Liam says, grinning as he pours himself a glass of wine.

“That's the ticket.”

“I want a hot dog,” Mia says, collapsing onto the sofa. Amir and Sunday pile on after her.

Louis is suddenly struck with anxiety, looking at them. He can't fathom telling them all at once like this.

“Go get changed first,” he says. “All of you.”

“Da-ad,” she complains.

“You'll catch your death out here.”

Liam laughs. “It’s seventy-five degrees!”

“Their hair’s wet.”

“Tommo…”

“Kids, go,” Louis says, and after some moaning and groaning, they all do.

Liam picks the corn off the grill and sets it aside, eyeing Louis.

“I think we ought to tell them separately,” Louis says. “Like you tell Sunday, and I'll tell mine.”

Liam gnaws at his lip. “Okay,” he says. “Sure.”

“You're okay with that?”

“Whatever you want.”

 “Can I have the patio, though?” Louis says, and smiles sweetly at him. “I don't feel like getting up.”

Liam laughs and comes over to him, perching on the chair beside Louis’ sock feet. He presses a lingering kiss to Louis’ mouth; Louis grips him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close.

 

*

 

They eat dinner first, the kids chatting away amiably as the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting an amber glow over the distant hills.

“Sunday,” Liam says when they've all finished. “Can you come with me for a sec?”

She looks up. “For what?”

“I, uh… ice cream,” Liam lies.

“I want ice cream,” Amir says.

“We’ll bring you some, kiddo,” Liam says, as he inches awkwardly toward the house.

Mia turns around and calls over the back of the sofa, “Can I have a Popsicle?”

“Sure.”

Sunday hops off the couch and follows him inside. The patio door slides heavily shut behind them.

Louis sits forward, dropping his sock feet onto the cool stone and planting his elbows on his thighs.

“What's up, Dad?” Mia says cannily, folding her arms across her chest. The two of them sit there, watching him interestedly, so in sync with each other, so similar in their poses. In the growing darkness, they could be parts of a whole, one sphinx with four eyes.

He laces his fingers together. “I've got something to tell you two.”

“Is everything okay?” she says.

Amir glances between them. “Is Dad okay?”

“Everything's fine,” Louis assures them. “Zayn’s fine.”

“Are we moving again?” Amir says. “This sounds like the moving talk.”

“Or the engaged to Liam talk,” Mia adds.

Louis laughs. “Nah, different talk. So… Liam and I had decided a while ago that we wanted to add to the little family we've got going on here.”

Mia’s eyes flicker in recognition, while Amir squints in confusion, and the sphinx is split into two again by the gap of knowledge between them.

Louis suddenly feels guilty that he warned Mia, and not Amir; sitting here now, he can't remember why he did that. Except that he babies Amir, while Mia reminds him more of himself, and he's always unconsciously taking cues from his mum, the way she handled things with him when he was this age.

“And we didn’t want to say anything unless we were, y’know, successful,” Louis continues. “So, uh, I’m…” He scratches the back of his head. “I’m pregnant.”

Mia gasps. “With a baby?”

“With, um. Two. Two babies. It's twins. You guys are gonna have two little siblings.”

Amir sits there, looking numb and uncomprehending. His catlike eyes have grown abnormally wide and round.

“Twins?” Mia exclaims. “What'd you do that for?”

Louis laughs. “It wasn't intentional, love. Just something that happens sometimes.”

“I don't get it,” Amir says. “Why would you have a baby? You have us.”

“Me and Liam wanted a baby of our own, love.”

“But you have  _us_ ,” he exclaims.

“I know, and I love you two more than anything.”

“No, you don't!” Amir leaps off the couch. “You're starting a whole new family with  _Liam_!”

“Amir,” Louis says sharply, his heart twisting unpleasantly in his chest.

He strides off toward the house. Mia watches him go, then turns to Louis.

“So, are they identical?” she says. “Because I have twins in my grade, Duncan and Kenny, and they're identical, and it's creepy.”

Louis gets to his feet, inhaling. “No, they're fraternal, love. They won't look exactly alike. I'm gonna go talk to your brother.”

“Okay.” Mia pops up, too, then comes over and hugs him. He holds her close, swallowing past the painful lump in his throat and constriction of his chest.

“Are you happy about this?” he says. “It's alright if you're not. You haven't got to put on a brave face for Amir, you can be upset too, if you want.”

“No, I'm excited. I really want to know what the baby’ll be like, I've been wondering since you told me on the beach. But I’m not changing diapers, though.”

“Aww, you can change a couple, love. Builds character.”

“No thanks,” she chirps. “Can I feel them?”

Louis draws back. “Not much to feel yet.”

Mia presses her hands to his middle. “Wait, Dad,” she says, rubbing them up and down, “you have a tummy now? Since when?”

He laughs. “I've been trying to keep it hidden ‘til it was a good time to tell you guys.”

“And there's two babies in here?”

“That there are, kiddo.”

“Whoa,” Mia says, marveling. “That is  _so_  weird.”

“I know.”

“So, wait, Liam and Sunday aren't really going to get me a popsicle then, are they?”

“No, they aren't. C’mon, I'll walk you in.”

Louis leads her to the house and leaves her in the sitting room, heading upstairs and toward the east wing, to Amir’s room.

His door is closed, pulled tightly shut. Louis lingers outside it for a moment, then gently raps his knuckles on the door.

“Go away,” Amir yells.

“Lovey,” Louis calls, “I really want to talk to you.”

Amir is silent.

“Can I please come in?”

“ _Fine_.”

Louis opens the door. The room is dark, except for the glow from his desk lamp, which isn't a high enough wattage to fully illuminate the royal blue walls. Amir is lying on his bed, facing away from him, sniffling.

Louis creeps over and sits on the edge of his bed, stroking his head. “Amir,” he whispers.

“You don't care,” he says tearily.

“Wrong. C'mere.” Louis wraps an arm around him, rolling him over and pulling him close. Amir grabs at his shirt, holding him tight, and buries his face in his chest, sobbing.

Louis is so heartbroken by this that it physically nauseates him; he swallows hard and kisses his son on the head, mussing his sleek hair. “Angel…”

“No…”

“What's wrong? Where’s all this coming from?”

“Mia’s your favorite,” Amir cries, soaking the front of his shirt with tears and snot. “And then you'll love these babies better, ‘cos you love Liam. And it'll be the six of you, and I’ll just be an orphan in the street!”

Louis laughs. “An orphan in the  _street_? You think we’re gonna leave you in the  _street_?”

“Whatever!”

“Baby, I don't have a favorite. You know that. I love both of you more than anything, more than anybody, okay? I never knew I could love so big until I had you guys... And I'll love these kids that much, too, but it won't ever change how I feel about you. You're so fucking special to me, kiddo, both in your own ways. That's why I wanted to have more kids, 'cos I love being your dad so much, you know?"

Amir’s sobs peter off. He hiccups and grips Louis’ shirt harder.

“I know it's hard that me and your dad have moved on from each other,” Louis murmurs, his throat tight. “But I still love your dad, alright? I really do. I love that the four of us can still be a family with each other, even though we don't live together. No one's ever gonna take that away. And no one could ever take my love for you away. I would love you if I was on the other side of the universe. I'd love you if I couldn't even remember me own name. You're my son. You're the only son I got to have with your dad. You're my little piece of him, okay? You and your sister, you remind me of him all the time.”

Amir sniffles and swallows.

“And you're like me, too,” Louis says, petting his hair. “I know you idolize your dad, I know you think you're only like him, and that Mia’s like me, but it ain't true. You remind me a lot of me at your age. So don't think you're not going to have anything in common with these babies. We’re all family."

“I guess…”

“I want all you kids involved in this whole process, I want you to know you're all a totally necessary part of this new family we’re makin’, here. And none of it means we’re leaving the old one behind. Change is normal, it’s good, and it’s a big part of life. You’ve got to get used to it.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to know how, if you’re gonna get along on your own when you’re grown. I won't always be there. I wish I could be. But it’s my job to teach you how to be there for yourself.”

Amir's quiet for a while. Finally, he says, “I remind you of you?”

“Of course you do.”

“But I don't think I want more brothers and sisters,” Amir says, looking up at him, his dark eyes made lighter by his tears. “Babies cry.”

“Aye, they do.”

“The house is gonna be loud.”

“It’ll be a little chaotic for a while,” Louis admits. “But you're at your dad’s half the week, and the babies’ll grow up fast. And you'll love them, I promise. You might not at first, you might think they’re just loud and annoying, but you'll love them. You might even get a brother or two out of this… you'd like a brother, yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess I would. Is he gonna be cool?”

He laughs. “I dunno if they're gonna be cool. I don't even know if either one’s a boy.”

“Can't you decide what to have?”

“Noo, that's not how it works. It's totally random, like rolling a dice.”

“Oh. Well, if you have two girls, I'll run away,” Amir threatens. “Four girls? You can't trap me in a house with four girls!”

“Please don't run away,” Louis says, smiling at him. “I sort of like having you around... You know, Mia thinks  _you're_  the favorite.”

“What? That's so fake!”

“Are you joking? You know what me and your dad call you?”

“What?”

Louis swipes the tears off his cheek with his thumb. “Our little prince.”

Amir laughs and hiccups. “Really?”

“Yeah, silly goose...”

He considers this for a moment, then snuggles up to Louis again. “I'm still mad, though.”

“I know.” Louis kisses him on his head. “For how much longer, you think?”

“Maybe like an hour,” Amir mutters.

“Alright, lovey.”

 

*

 

When Louis leaves Amir’s room, Mia is sitting criss cross applesauce in the hall, playing on her phone. She looks up at him and says, “Can I talk to him?”

“‘Course,” he says.

She hops up and goes in. Louis lingers in the hall for a few moments, half-trying to listen, then gives them their privacy and heads downstairs.

He finds Liam alone in the kitchen, and asks him how telling Sunday went. Apparently she was happy to hear the news, but had a lot of questions about what babies are like, which Louis thinks is a perfectly fair tack to take.

The five of them eventually regroup in the den — Liam puts an old Katharine Hepburn film on (he’s gotten the kids enjoying old movies, somehow) and brings everyone ice cream, even remembering that Mia had wanted a popsicle, which earns him an affectionate kiss from Louis.

“I like this one,” Liam says, when he's settled next to Louis with his own bowl of ice cream.

Louis stretches his legs out over Liam’s lap. “Which one is it?”

“Holiday,” he says. “She’s crazy rich, she falls in love with Cary Grant, who eloped with her sister, but he finds out that really he loves  _her_ , and Hepburn decides to keep it to herself so she doesn't break up the marriage. But then her dad tells him, hey, you gotta work at the family bank, or whatever — so, I won't ruin the ending, but.”

“Louis, we watched this together,” Sunday says. “When you had your toothy thingy?”

“Root canal,” Liam supplies.

“Right, and I was home sick from school? And Dad put this on and made us watch it? And then we ate soup.”

“Oh yeah!” Louis says. “I was proper loopy, wasn't I?”

“Yeah, you were entertaining,” Liam says, and nudges him. “You thought Cary Grant was fit.”

"Did I?"

"Made me a bit jealous."

"I've got good news for you, love, he's been dead for like fifty years."

They laugh and kiss.

“Okay, gross,” Sunday says, sticking her spoon back in her ice cream.

“Yeah, gross, and shush, I can't hear,” Amir adds.

“Shit,” Mia mutters, glancing beside her at a popsicle drip she's just left on the leather couch. “I'm melting.”

“Just use your sleeve, love,” Louis says.

“Or a  _napkin_ , you barbarian,” Liam exclaims, and leans over to hand Mia one.

On-screen, Katharine Hepburn is saying to her sister, "You've got no faith in Johnny, have you, Julia? His little dream may fall flat, you think. Well, so it may, what if it should? There'll be another." Louis finds himself glancing, inexplicably, at Liam; when Liam notices his gaze and meets his eyes, Louis quickly says, "This in Chicago, this film?"

"New York, I think," Liam says.

"Right... I always get those building fronts confused."

Liam laughs. "Too tall for you, Tommo?"

"Well, yeah! Americans are ridiculous... make everythin' fifty stories high..."

"I think this is supposed to be Park Avenue," Liam says, and then glances over at his daughter. "You remember when we lived on Park Avenue, love? Probably not, you were just a little peanut back then."

Sunday looks up at him. She seems to want to say yes, but ultimately shakes her head. "I think I only remember SoHo," she says. 

"Remember the doorman at our SoHo flat?" Liam says. "Bernie? He liked you."

Sunday grins. "Yeah, I remember him. He always had candy."

Louis snuggles up closer against Liam. Liam moves one of his nice, solid hands down to rest, with a lovely absent-minded familiarity, against Louis’ belly.

He looks over and sees that Amir has cuddled up to Mia, his head against her shoulder, like he always did when they were younger. He smiles at this, then turns back to the TV.

 

CALABASAS, NOVEMBER 22, 2024

When the doorbell rings, Louis is off like shot from the sitting room and into the foyer. He flings the front door open, and there's Niall standing there in the high noon sunshine, looking tanned and weatherbeaten.

He shouts in wordless joy, and so does Louis. They collide in a grabby bear hug, rocking each other back and forth.

“Tommoooo… How long’s it been?”

“Way too long. I feel so abandoned. All my friends keep gettin’ engaged and leaving me all alone in stupid California.”

Niall slaps him on the back. “I know, I'm a disgrace. So…”

He takes a step back and lifts his sunglasses, studying Louis.

“You figure out what my surprise is?” Louis says cheekily. He wore a henley today, so his bump is plenty obvious to the naked eye.

“Think I got a hunch,” Niall says, grinning, and he reaches out and pinches Louis’ shirt in his fingers. “You got somethin’ under there, boyo?”

“I do,” Louis says. “I got  _two_  somethings under there, as a matter of fact.”

Niall’s mouth makes a round O. “No!”

“Oh yeah.”

Liam comes into the foyer, then, and he and Niall do their own shouting, then happily scuffle with each other. Niall gets a grinning Liam in a headlock and exclaims at him, “ _Twins_? You did that?”

“I didn't mean to!” Liam says, laughing.

“I didn't know you had it in you, lad!”

“Aww, hey now!”

They let go of each other, laughing.

“All ‘e did was nut in me!” Louis complains. “I've done literally everythin’ else!”

Liam comes over and kisses him on the cheek. “Listen, I've got to get going,” he says. “I have a wee writing session. A tiny tiny session. The littlest session.”

“Exactly _how_ big a session, lad?” Louis says, amused.

He holds up his fingers very close together. “Should be back in plenty of time to hand Sunday off.”

“Alright,” Louis says. “I mean, I can do it —”

“No,” Liam says quickly. “I really don't want you to.”

“I just mean, if you get hung up at your tiny, tiny meeting —”

Liam squeezes Niall’s bicep as he goes over to grab his jacket off the coat rack, then points to Louis. “I’ll be home in time. Alright?”

“Alright…”

He takes his leave of them, going out the front door with a jovial wave. Louis glances back at Niall, who's got a curious look on his face.

“I've got a  _lot_  to tell you,” Louis says, beckoning him down the hall.

 

*

 

Niall takes a seat at the kitchen island. Louis puts a kettle on, then comes over and leans across from him, elbows down on the marble.

Niall reaches up and squeezes the dangling vine of one of the heartleaf philodendrons they have hanging from the ceiling. “I like all the greenery in this place.”

“That's all Liam,” Louis says. “All the little touches. The Martha Stewart-y things, he's good at that.”

“None on your end?”

“Nah, I've got all the talent for telly placement, so.”

Niall laughs. “You two’re doing well, then? With the living together?”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, obviously.” Louis cups his hands briefly to his middle.

“So you planned those?” Niall says, grinning.

Louis lets his mouth falls open in mock offense. “Hey! I can have babies on purpose sometimes!”

“I know, lad.”

“Yeah, y’know, we'd talked about it before. I’m getting up there…”

“You’re not even thirty-three!”

Louis laughs. “I  _love_  hearing you say thirty-three.”

“Stop,” Niall moans.

“Turdy-tree.”

“I really dunno how much room you've got to talk, mister fir’y-free over here…”

“Oh, hush! Speakin’ of accents, how's our Winnie?”

Niall grins. “Great. She told me to tell you hi.”

“Tell her hi back. I loved you two in the Live Lounge,” Louis says. “She's got a great voice.”

“I know!” Niall beams. “Not bad on the guitar, either.”

“I noticed that. I think you met your match, there.”

“We almost didn't make it back to England in time to record it, ‘cos of the Ryanair strike,” Niall says. “Didn't have enough time to make the drive. I had to have my friend who’s a hobby pilot fly us out, and — did I tell you this story?”

“You texted us your plane almost crashed out of Ireland and it made you decide to propose, but no details.”

“Right, well, we we were landin’ and we hit all this turbulence, started losin’ altitude like crazy.” Niall gestures as if to imitate a nosedive. “I’m shaking, I’m white as a sheet, but she was so calm. She was yellin’ at the pilot like, ‘Josh, you better right this plane, I cannae die in Britain!’”

Louis laughs appreciatively.

“Anyhow, I just looked at her and thought, I don't want t’ die without bein’ married to her. Obviously, we made it out fine, so I went with her to her family’s place for her birthday the next week, got her parents’ blessin’, asked her out on a walk after dinner an’ did the bit on the knee.”

When Niall finishes, he’s glowing with good cheer under his tan.

“I love that,” Louis says, smiling. “I'm so happy for you, mate.”

“Anyway, you were saying,” Niall says, pointing at his middle.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I dunno. We've been doing everything sort of unconventional so far,” Louis says. “Got engaged before we moved in together…”

“Well, you've got the kids to think about.”

“Exactly. Ours was a shit proposal, even,” Louis says, grinning. “Nothin’ like yours. I mean, it was sweet. It felt right, I reckon. We were just lying around on the couch, and he hits me in the shoulder an’ goes, ‘How d’you feel about getting married again?’ and I was like, ‘Depends who’s asking,’ and he said, ‘Tommo, it's me asking, you punter,’ and I said, ‘Well, if it's you asking, I'm in favor of the idea,’ and then he slid off the couch, got on one knee and pulled out this signet ring.”

“I've never seen you wear a signet ring,” Niall says, puzzled.

“It’s too big, not my style. It's nice, though. I keep it in a box with all my bits and bobs. My X-Factor nametag, all that shit…”

“Aww,” Niall says, grinning. “Maybe you can give it to Mims when she gets engaged.”

Louis laughs. “The nametag, or the ring?”

“Both.”

“Right, ‘course. I’m glad he asked, though. I miss being married.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It's just very, like… normal. You know?”

Niall nods, getting a bit misty in the eyes. “I do. I want that. Like, botherin’ her t’ pick up milk, and shit.”

“Exactly! Exactly, I love pretending to be normal... Arguing at the Costco. Sometimes I even — this is so dumb, but I send him to the store with a bit of cash, so he can only spend so much. And then he gets home, and I ask him for the change back. I get my glasses on, look at the receipt, an’ joke like, ‘Why’d you buy the name-brand butter?’ The kids think we’re mental.”

“You’re not,” Niall says, grinning. “I like to mow my own lawn. With a push mower, no less.”

“I know, I've seen you out there.”

“It's good lat work.” Niall picks at the couch cushion. “What was that bit in the foyer with Liam, by the way? About Sunday?”

“Oh,” Louis groans. “Um… long story short, Ceci called about a month ago and told Liam she wants him back, and he should dump me and go running back to her.”

Niall tilts his head, looking horrified. “ _What?_ You serious?”

“I know! And he called her back — in front of me — and accidentally yelled at her that we're having a baby — well, babies, we didn't know that yet — and she hung up, and she hasn't been in touch ‘til the other week, when she filed some shit against him, trying to get him to give her Thanksgiving with Sunday. His lawyer slapped it down, so she was like, fine, but I’m taking the kid for the weekend before, so he said alright. So she’s coming by to pick her up later.”

“That's fuckin’ bananas,” Niall says. “She wants him back? She used that boy like a tissue!”

"See, here's the thing, I don't think she actually does. I think it's just like, a chess move." He gnaws at his lip. "I dunno. I think that, like — I think it's possible she might want to genuinely be back in Sunday's life a bit more, she's just going about it the absolute worst way possible, 'cos she and Liam have got horrible communication, just horrible. And then Sunday just ends up suffering for it. It's like — I mean, just to be clear here, I think Liam's a wonderful dad —"

Niall raises his eyebrows. "Is this about to get spicy?"

"No, no, just — d'you get the feeling that the both of them project on her a bit?"  

He chuckles. "Oof. I mean, here's the thing, lad... Liam was absolutely not expecting anythin' that went down between the two of them. He was blindsided in every way possible. And I think being a single dad, trying to manage his own career, then chasing after Ceci all the time so Sunday could get a bit o' time with her... it really wore him down. He's not a vindictive guy at all."

"No, 'course not."

"But, y'know, this is somethin' he'd never experienced before. I do think he gets confused in the head a bit, with like, 'you abandoned me and our kid', it's all the same thing to him. And I think he forgets that Ceci didn't divorce Sunday, y'know? I mean, it was Ceci's idea for him to move out to LA, so she could see Sunday for visits. She wasn't like, 'take that kid and shove her up your arse', she just told him straight-up she couldn't be a full-time parent anymore. Which is shit, yeah, 'cos why have one if you're not ready for that? But they both rushed into everything so fast. Felt like I was watchin' a car accident happen in slow motion."

"Yeah," Louis says, with some guilt.

"But, I dunno. She's not a _terrible_ mum. Just immature, and a flake."

"Liam said, like, he doesn't want Sunday with her 'cos he thinks Ceci doesn't pay her enough attention," Louis says. "That she's always busy, she doesn't make room in her life for the kid."

"Well, maybe, but —" Niall sucks in air through his teeth and then sighs. "It’s almost a catch twenty-two, ‘cos if she’s not getting that much custody, she’s not gonna make as much room in the first place. I mean, I'm not defending her. I just think Liam's sort of got her on a tightrope.”

”And they talk through their lawyers a lot, which doesn’t help at all.”

”Right.”

"It’d be one thing if Sunday was like, no, I never want to see Ceci, get me away from her, but that just ain’t how it is. She only didn’t want to do Thanksgiving ‘cos she doesn’t like her grandparents, which is fair, ‘cos they sound like a nightmare. And Ceci should’ve understood that, but it became another fight between her and Liam of like her going ‘how dare you keep my kid from me?’ and him saying — which, he’s entirely correct in saying — ‘you don’t get to cherrypick the time you get with her’, and talking past each other, just rehashing their grievances.” He smooths his hand over his middle. "I dunno. I'm biased too. I probably project onto 'er as much as they do. Poor fucking kid."

"She'll be alright. I know she will," Niall says. "Kids're so resilient... and no one's perfect. No parent or stepparent's _ever_ been perfect, I promise ya that. Most people turn out alright anyway."

"You're right. You're right. Anyway... sorry, I’m babbling. It’s just Liam doesn't like to discuss this with me much."

"It’s not personal, lad... he's just so afraid of losing you again," Niall says gently. 

"He's not going to! Especially not over this!”

"I know. I think he just thinks the drama of it all is a bit toxic.”

"See, and I told him he can't, like, have two entirely separate lives, and he was like, yeah, yeah! But sometimes I wonder if he even 'ears me when I say that. It's like he thinks he can pretend Ceci doesn't hate me, and doesn't take that out on him, and instead of confronting her about that, and maybe reassuring her that I'm not going to steal 'er kid, he's just like, let's do nothin'!"

"It's hard for him, though. You've got it good with Zayn. You somehow managed t' come out of all that shit still lovin' each other."

"It's worse between them now that I'm pregnant," Louis says. "And I knew it would be. She feels even more threatened than she did before. I just worry about Sunday... I don’t want things to be worse for her ‘cos of me, I don’t want her mum pulling immature bullshit ‘cos of me.”

"You can't arrange your life around that shit, Tommo. At a certain point you’ve just got to let it go.”

“Oh, nah, 'course. I mean, me and Liam really wanted to do this together, and I'm gettin’ up there, besides. I really didn't want to be into me fifties and still have kids in the house.”

“Yeah, we’re getting old, aren't we?” Niall glances down at his tea, stirring it. “Me and Winnie’ve talked about it… y'know, she's older than me, so we can't wait forever.”

“But she does want them?”

“Yeah. She's like me, one’d do her just fine. Maybe two.”

“Y’know, I felt the same way.”

“And yet you're gonna have five,” Niall says, all cheeky.

“I know,” he groans. “I didn't think I'd get twins this time ‘round, I really didn't.”

Niall mimes cocking a shotgun. “Ol’ Payno, he's more gifted than we thought.”

“I think literally everyone I've told has made that exact joke. Even Lottie made that joke.”

“An’ I'm sure Liam’s been making it.”

“To his friends, yeah, but I think he actually feels a bit guilty.”

“Aww…” Niall flaps his hand. “You can't control that sorta thing. The more the merrier, anyhow.”

Louis smiles. “Yeah.”

Niall gives him a more sober look, suddenly looking every year of his age, the puckish glitter in his light eyes quieting for a moment. “Drama aside, I like seeing how happy you are with him.”

He tilts his head. “Was I not happy before?”

“You were. It was just... I dunno. You looked like you had t’ whole world on your shoulders, some days. You’re more like carefree Tommo again, now.”

“Which is funny, ‘cos I've got even more responsibilities.”

“Yeah, but you grew into ‘em, and, y'know. You've got Liam.”

“Yeah. He's… yeah. Better with that shit.”

“I’m not slagging Zayn off,” Niall clarifies.

“I know, lad. I do. And, I mean, you seem happier these days too. I felt like you were spinning your wheels for a while. The entire thing with Ellie, just…”

“Road to nowhere?”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Lot of car metaphors.”

Niall shrugs and nods. “I think that's a fair assessment.”

Louis clears his throat. “You know, you and Winn ought to have a son.”

“Yeah?”

“I just can't imagine you with a daughter.”

“Aww, nah, I’d love a daughter. Could make her the next female golf prodigy.”

“Alright there — you Tiger Woods’s dad?”

“Earl.”

“Sorry?”

“Earl,” Niall says. “His dad. Earl Woods.”

“You freak me out sometimes, trivia boy,” Louis says.

“Can't help it,” Niall says, tapping his temple. “Stuff just sticks.”

Louis laughs.

“So, you know what these are?”

“Nah, not yet.”

Niall nods. “You want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I dunno. Not really, you know? I've already got one of each. I think Payno’d like a son, maybe.”

“Can I put money on this? Is there a pool, like?”

“Wait ‘til it comes out I’m pregnant, I'm sure there’ll be something up on Unibet.”

“This is a tough one,” Niall muses. “Dunno what odds you could give. Even for each?”

The doorbell rings, then; they look at each other.

“You expecting anyone?” Niall says.

“Package? Kids are always using the Alexa to order stupid shit...”

Louis heads down the hall to the door and pulls it open, expecting the UPS guy or maybe Liam, if he's forgotten something, but instead he comes face to face with Ceci for the first time in months.

She looks gorgeous — she's in great shape, and her chestnut hair is cascading over her shoulders like a shampoo commercial. Her face falls the instant she sees him.

“Oh,” Louis says in surprise.

She eyes him with dislike. “Hi.”

“You’re  _really_  early,” he says.

“I called Liam,” Ceci says. “I got his voicemail?”

“He's in a writing session.”

“Our flight to Napa got bumped up,” she says. Her eyes are glittering, flinty, and her voice is not its usual husky purr. It’s coming from up in her chest, and she’s spitting every consonant at him. “So, I need my daughter. Now.”

Louis peers behind her at her parked Bentley. He recognizes John, who's attractive in a nondescript way and bearded. He's in the driver’s seat, tapping away on a Blackberry.

“I don't feel comfortable, like, giving her to you when Liam isn't here,” he says.

Ceci scoffs. “You don't feel  _comfortable_? She’s coming with me either way. A few hours doesn't matter. And she's not yours to make decisions for.”

Louis puts his hands up. “I know that,” he says. He wants desperately to placate her, but he’s having a bad day of mood swings already, and the chip on her shoulder is in danger of bringing out his own. “I'll fetch her. Can you come wait inside?”

“I don't want to come in,” she snaps.

“I don't want to shut the door in your face, Ceci.”

“Oh, you don't?”

Louis’ head buzzes with hot anger. “What the fuck,” he says, already at his limit. “Can we be civil, please?”

“I know he told you about my call,” she says, and pushes past him despite her earlier objections.

Louis pulls the door shut and turns to her, confused. “How?”

“It's Liam, of course he told you,” she says.

“Right, well, I should hope he did tell me,” Louis snaps. “It's the sort of thing I’d expect him to.”

Ceci gives him such an icy look that he wants to avert his gaze; he finds himself for the first time receiving the full power of her facemelting Broadway diva charisma. He understands a little better now how she was able to jerk Liam around for so long. She’s a performer through and through, and it’s terrifying when the mask slips. She reminds him a little of Harry, in that way. 

She flicks her eyes briefly down at his middle. Louis gets the urge to back away, fold his arms, but he fights it, because that would betray to her that she’s shaken him. And she has, a little bit — her voicemail tore the curtain open on something ugly in him, a lack of trust that Zayn gashed into him when he cheated. Only his deep understanding of who Liam is and how loved he is by him can head off that primal fear. 

“And on that note,” he adds, fighting to keep his voice dead even and as low as he can get it, “I’m gonna ask you to not play games with his head. You divorced him. You’re done. It’s over. I’ll only ask politely once. Next time I’m gonna take it a lot more seriously.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m just telling you what’s up.”

“Well,  _thank_  you for that.”

“I’d like an apology,” Louis says, the heat in his chest getting the better of him. “The shit you said about me an’ ‘im was completely out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” she snaps. “I was drunk and I made a stupid phone call. I regretted it immediately. So do me a favor and don’t use it as an excuse to poison my daughter against me.”

“I’d never do that.”

Ceci eyes him with haughty disbelief. “SUNDAY,” she yells up the staircase.

They hear footsteps come down the hall, and Niall appears, looking as apprehensive as he always does when he's witness to a dramatic scene of this caliber. He glances at Ceci, then raises his hand in a wave. “Hey there.”

“Hi Niall,” she says mildly.

He slides his hands into his pockets. “Good to see you. Been a while.”

“Mhmm.”

“Mummy?” Sunday calls down as she appears at the top of the stairs. “You're early.”

“I know,” Ceci says. “Our flight got bumped. Do you have your things ready?”

“I just have to pack a little more,” she says.

“Okay, sweetie, please hurry. Do you need any help?”

“No,” Sunday says uneasily. She can obviously sense the tension in the foyer. She turns and disappears back down the hall again.

Louis stands there, achingly self-conscious, trying in vain to look less pregnant.

“So,” Niall says brightly. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Ceci says, glancing at him.

“How's the biz going? The talkies?”

She lets out a brief little laugh. “The biz is fine.”

They all fall into an awkward silence, then. Niall is visibly struggling to think of a neutral topic of conversation. Louis wishes he could somehow indicate to him that he needn’t bother.

He gets his phone out and discreetly rings Liam, holding it to his ear, but it goes straight to voicemail. His phone must be off.

Sunday comes rushing down the stairs then, her curly hair bouncing in its ponytail. “I'm ready,” she says quickly, glancing between Louis and her mother, clearly looking to appease.

Louis shoots her a warm smile. “Have fun, kiddo.”

“I will,” she chirps back, and tentatively comes toward Ceci, who gives her a quick hug and then takes her backpack from her.

“She’ll be back Monday before school?” Louis says, stepping aside so they can head for the door.

Ceci tosses a withering look over her shoulder. “I told Liam when I'd have her back. Ask him.”

Sunday starts to respond, but Ceci hustles her out the door, and then it's slamming shut.

Louis gives the door the finger.

“Bloody hell,” Niall says with relish. “Think I felt the walls ice over.”

Louis inhales, then smooths his hair back. 

“I shouldn’t’ve invited her in,” he mutters. “She bum’s rushed me." His stomach lurches, then; he freezes, wondering if might vomit again like he did this morning, but it passes.

“You alright?” Niall says, studying him.

Louis shrugs. “Yeah.”

“C’mere.” Niall beckons him. “Let’s go talk in the den, I wanna put my feet up and check some scores.”

 

*

 

They end up talking about sports for a while, and then music, and it's only after about an hour has gone by that Louis remembers he hasn't told Niall about the Zayn thing.

He mutes the TV, then, and sets the remote down on the couch between them. Niall, nestled in a nest of pillows, glances over at him.

“I’ve got a bit of a doozy for you,“ Louis says.

“A  _doozy_ ,” Niall says with interest, and he sits up a bit.

Louis settles his hands on his middle. He finds they keep going there, these days — it's part the reassuring warmth, the knowledge that there's something in there, which calms his overactive brain, and part a sort of anxious checking habit brought on his insecurity about looking about a month more pregnant than he is. 

“It's about Harry,” Louis says.

Niall’s brow knits. “You know something about Harry that I don't?”

“I know, weird, innit? But I heard it from Zayn.”

He looks even more puzzled, then. “Alright?”

“So… Harry’s going through a rough time with his husband.”

“Yeah, I knew that,” Niall says.

“And he was having an affair.”

Niall’s brows shoot up. “Seriously? Like, a full-blown one?”

“Aye,” Louis says. “Like, he's in love with someone else.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know. And this is the kicker... It was Zayn.”

Niall goes dead silent for a few beats, staring at him.

“You're jokin’,” he accuses.

“I'm dead serious, lad.”

“No. There's no way.”

“They were sleeping together all summer,” Louis says, and Niall bends in half with his elbows on his thighs, shoving his hands into his hair. “Then Harry broke it off, ‘cos he wanted to work on his marriage, but he called Zayn a month later and told him he was fuckin’ in  _love_  with him.”

“God!” Niall moans. “Jesus Christ al-fuckin’-mighty, you gobshite boys. When will it end?”

“I know, I know —“

“I mean, what is this band? We’ve shot past Fleetwood Mac. This is ABBA territory, now.”

“Niall, it's alright.”

“How's it alright?” Niall lifts his head in disbelief. “You of all people, you think it's ‘alright’?”

“Oh, no, I bloody hate it,” Louis says with a wry laugh. “But, I dunno... it sounds like Harry’s in a really shit situation, and I feel for him. It sounds like Angelos is sort of a shithead.”

Niall lets out a long sigh. “I know. Harry told me he lied about havin’ a vasectomy.”

“He did  _what_?”

“Yeah. Real pleasant stuff. Especially since one of the reasons Harry was in a hurry to get married is he's antsy to start a family.”

Louis shifts on the couch. “Do we need to like, break into this bloke’s house and rescue him? Does he need deprogrammed?”

“I don't even know what country they're in right now,” Niall says. “Paris, Milan, London, who knows, it's like a fuckin’ shell game trying to figure out where he is. And he's always postin’ those latergrams, which doesn't help.”

“I told Zayn he ought to fight for him. Is that crazy?”

“Depends… Why’d you say it?”

“‘Cos I could tell something’s been weighing on his mind lately. And you should see him when he talks about Harry…” He exhales. “I haven't seen him look like that in ages. I just want him to be happy. That's really what I want for him. I mean that honestly.”

“You really think they'd make a go of it?”

“I dunno.”

“Harry never got over Zayn, y’know,” Niall says. “Absolutely murdered him when you two got married. He was a wreck.”

“I know,” Louis mutters. “I had a suspicion Zayn never got over him, either. We had a couple fights about it.”

“I never knew that.”

“Yeah. Y’know… it’s weird for me to think of Harold bein’ jealous of me about anything.”

“He honestly is, about certain things. It isn't easy for him t’ be who he is, you know that.”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Feel like it's not surprising that he ended up marrying somebody who treats him like this.” Niall sniffs and rubs at his nose. “I mean, I hate it. I feel awful for him. But these last couple years, he's sort of lost touch with himself.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, softly.

“I know Zayn and Harry haven't exactly been cordial ever since, y’know —”

“Zayn left the band and knocked me up on his way out?”

Niall laughs. “Well, yeah. But Zayn at least thinks of him as a person. You know how it is, in our situation... anybody that knew you before you were big, or who gets what it's like, you try and hang onto ‘em for dear life.”

“I always think of Harry as so happy, havin’ his perfect life,” Louis says, looking down at his hands in his lap and rubbing at his thumbnail. “Everything he does, he's golden…”

“But I don't think he appreciates that anymore, t’ him it's just like, the air he breathes, by now. He wants somethin’ new, more real. The next stage o’ his life. He wants what you’ve got,” Niall says. “The kids, the solid relationship, the nice domestic life. Think he's done doing coke off Victoria's Secret models’ arses.”

“Was he jealous of me for that same sorta shit when I was married to Zayn?” Louis says. “‘Cos Zayn was a drunk, and really unhappy for the most part. I was unhappy half the time too. Always pregnant, barely had energy to put into me floundering solo career, pining for the band t’ get back together. And that was before he cheated. I can't imagine his highness Prince Harold bein’ jealous of me for any of that.”

“But you had Zayn,” Niall says gently. “And his cute little babies. And Zayn loved you. I think, y’know, Harry’d told himself Zayn’d never be willing to do it — the married, full-time dad thing. I mean, it didn’t seem like he was ready for that…” He breaks off and shrugs.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs.

“And even besides the one-night-stands and things, he was still — like, even after him and Perrie got engaged, he was crawling in Harry’s bed, trying to start up with him again.”

“I remember,” Louis says. He and Harry were beginning to fight a lot at that point, and he and Zayn were starting to get really close. He was often the one who talked Zayn down from paying late-night visits to Harry.  _He dumped you,_  he’d remind him _, fucking forget him, he thinks he’s too good for all of us._ Nasty, petty shit, but that was around the time the three of them were getting into coke, and it was making them each act paranoid and shitty in their own special way. Liam and Niall, who still preferred to blow off steam by getting loaded, stayed somewhat sane in comparison.

“Course Harry never let anythin’ happen after they broke up,” Niall continues, “but I think he’d really already written Zayn off at that point. Let alone what happened after, with, y’know, you. But anyway, after all that, seeing him settle down and really be with you was like a slap in Harry’s face, even though things didn't work out in the end. ‘Cos then he couldn't even tell himself that Zayn was all bad news. At least he tried. So Harry felt like he blew his chance.”

“I’ve sensed that from him, sort of. But… I dunno. It's just so hard to wrap my head around. Even now, I can't imagine Harry bein’ jealous of my life with five kids.”

“Hey, you know he wants a family.”

“He should be with Zayn,” Louis says, with difficulty. “If he wants him. Really. I've moved on.”

“It's up to them to make it happen, lad.”

“Nah, I know.”

“So then what if they get together, for real?” Niall says, eyeing him. “What's that gonna do t’ the band? I mean, all else aside, it's your ex-husband, it's your kids’ dad. That's a bitter pill. You and Harold are awkward enough wit’ each other as it is.”

“I’d find a way to get past it. I mean, it'd be real fuckin’ weird, for me. I’m not saying I’d be super mature and detached about it. That’s not me. I’d… y’know.” He drags in a strained breath and shifts on the couch, smoothing his hands over his middle; the babies are pressing on his diaphragm. “It'd be tense at first. But like you said, me and him are already tense and weird. If it did happen, I'd get over it.”

“That's big of you.”

“Me and Zayn didn't work. We couldn't make each other happy long-term, y’know?”

“I know what you mean, like,” Niall says. “Spent years trying to work somethin’ out with Ellie. Took me all that time to figure out it was just like, we don't vibrate on the same frequency.”

“Exactly what I mean, yeah.”

“Sucks, though. Realizin’ that.”

“I do miss him, from time to time,” Louis admits. “The kids remind me so much of ‘im. And we've got such a good thing going, now. After the divorce, after he got sober, I wondered a few times like, what if we gave it another go? But... nah.”

”And you’re solid with Payno,” Niall says. 

“Oh, ‘course! Jesus. No, yeah, it’s, ahh… it’s been nothing like Zayn, essentially.”

“Bit less stressful.”

“Less everything. I mean, you remember how it was with us. We were barmy, we were like a pair of children raising children.”

Niall laughs.

“Felt like the scorpion and the frog,” Louis says. “I kept sayin’, I’ll only marry you if you don’t cheat on me. An’ he was like, no, no lad! I won’t! So I was like, alright, I’ll marry ya... And then he cheats.”

He shrugs hugely. Niall makes a sympathetic noise and mutters something about Zayn being a twat.

“Anyway,” Louis says, “things just make sense when it's me and Liam… I’m like, comfortable. Like you said, we vibrate right, I guess. Just be nice if the ex shit and the kid shit wasn't so complicated all the time."

“Hey, just for t’ record, Ceci wasn't always like this. I know you and Liam weren’t exactly chatting it up when they were together, and you don't really know her, so I just wanna say, she wasn't. She was always sweet to me, and she was good for him at first. I think they just moved way too fast, they were both immature... she got in over her head, started taking things for granted, and they both stopped communicating. Liam freaked out and tried to hold onto her tighter, which pushed her away…”

Louis winces in knowing sympathy.

“And then she came out here, and you know what LA is like, it can really fuck with your head if you haven't got it on straight in t’ first place.”

“Look... I don't hate her, I really don't. I sort of feel for her, on a certain level." He thinks again of his nightmare about Zayn and Harry — he wonders how he would feel if Harry spent seven days a week with his kids. It’s unimaginable. But he would never abandon them in the first place, he reminds himself.

“I mean, you can hate her if you want,” Niall says. “It’s absolutely within your rights. That voicemail thing was absolutely mental… You two’re engaged, for fuck’s sake.”

“Maybe she was thinking we won't go through with it? ‘Course, that was before she knew I was pregnant.”

“She knows, though,” Niall says sagely. “She knows how Liam is. She knew exactly what that call was going to do to him, how guilty and paralyzed he’d get. She was playing him. She’s spoiled, and she threw a tantrum, and when it didn’t play out like she wanted, she made it look like she was the victim. And took it out on you when you held her accountable.”

Louis exhales. “You’re right,” he says. “Nah, you are. You’re always right, lad, and it’s a bit annoying, to tell you the truth.”

Niall grins, clearly pleased.

“I just feel like it’s not my place to say that shit about her.”

“Yeah, I get that. He’s sensitive about the whole thing to begin with.”

Louis nods, his jaw tight.

“Hey, speaking of exes, you told Payno about this stuff with Zayn and Harold?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Really?” Niall adjusts his watch strap. “So I'm t’ last to know? Weird.”

“‘S’what happens when you fall in love and go gallivanting all over the world,” Louis says, tweaking his nipple and making him giggle. “You fall out of touch with the drama of your loser bandmates.”

“You aren't  _losers_ , c’mon. Load of drama queens, maybe.”

“I wish Harry knew you knew, so you could talk to him about it.”

“Tell you what, I'll give him a ring and see if me an’ him are gonna cross paths at all in the next month or so. And then I'll sit him down, get some wine in him, and I'll pull it out.”

“I've got faith in you, Neil.”

Niall laughs. “Hey, you mind if I feel?”

“Feel what?... Oh, the babies? Yeah, go on,” Louis says, shifting so he's got better access. “You can't feel ‘em moving yet, though.”

“I figured not.”

Niall’s hands go to him, and he smooths his thumbs over the swell of Louis’ middle, rumpling the fabric of his shirt. He smiles sweetly. It's a far cry from when Louis was pregnant with Mia, and Niall would duck away from him in horror every time he said he felt her move.

After a few nice moments, Niall starts patting him in a rhythm, like he's playing the bongos.

“Stop that,” Louis says, laughing.

“I can feel it, comin’ in the aaaair tonight…”

“You're gonna give my babies tinnitus!”

“Tell ‘em to join the fuckin’ club.” He squints at Louis. “I feel like this should be squishier.”

“Wot, my tummy? It’s fairly squishy.”

“I just picture it like a water balloon, ‘cos the babies are floating around in water.”

“Yeah, but that's all behind me abs, inside me uterus.”

“Me  _uterus_ ,” Niall repeats, very seriously. “I'm sorta jealous of you, seriously. Wish I could get pregnant. Seems like the perfect excuse to lie around the house and make everyone bring you things, fuss over ya. If anyone asks you to do anythin’ or go anywhere, you've got a perfect excuse.”

“Absolutely, that’s my favorite bit. And Liam’s good about it, usually. ‘Cept when I woke him up and tried to send him to Taco Bell at two in the morning the other night, I think he wanted to whack me.”

“He should know that growing babies need tacos.” Niall pats him on the belly one more time, then tickles him a bit.

Louis slaps him away, giggling. “Speaking of these babies, when’re you two gonna get married, anyway? Can you either hurry up or wait a while? ‘Cos I wanna be at your wedding.”

“I think it's a June wedding we're doin',” Niall says.

“Alright, well, I'm due in May. Wait, April, actually, ‘cos it's twins.”

“You're gonna fly out to Scotland when you've got two newborns?”

“Don't have it in Scotland, then,” Louis jokes. “Have it at our house, alright? We've got a nice garden, don't we?”

Niall laughs. “Tell you what, we’ll have another reception here in Los Angeles, we’ll have everybody who couldn't come to the first one.”

“Oh, Neil, I hate to miss your wedding.”

“Hey, I missed  _your_  first wedding,” Niall points out.

“We eloped, everyone missed our wedding except Oli. And Zayn's bodyguard. And anyway, you'll be at my second one.”

“When's  _that_  gonna be?”

“I’d rather not be pregnant at every single wedding I have, so, year and a half, maybe? I dunno.” Louis leans his elbow on the leather couch cushion and props his jaw against his fist. “Liam said he'd be okay eloping, he already had his big fancy wedding, but I didn't. I want it to be a big blowout party this time. And I really wanna be able to drink the champagne.”

“That is one of the fun parts,” Niall says. “We were thinkin’ we’d have a few kegs at ours.”

“I can't  _believe_  I'm gonna miss this,” Louis exclaims. “No, fuck it, I’m going. I'll ‘ave Liam strap the babies to his back like a possum.”

Niall smiles at him. “If you really want to, lad.”

“I do!”

“Hey,” he says, poking Louis in the stomach again. “I really think you ought to name one o’ them Niall.”

“Oh yeah? What if it’s two girls?”

“Still stands.”

“I'll think about it.”

“This is so unfair,” Niall jokes. “You keep having baby after baby with everyone in the band but me, and I can't even get one named Niall?”

“Aww, you want to have a baby with me, lad?”

“Nah, not really. Think they'd be cute, though, our kids.”

“Oh, yeah. And very funny.”

“Right? That's what I’m sayin’.”

Louis’ phone rings, then. He digs it out of his pocket and sees it's Liam. “‘Lo?”

“Hey, is everything okay?” he says frantically. “Is Sunday okay?”

“Yeah, babe! Everything's fine, why?”

“Thank God. Sorry. I got out, saw I had missed calls from you and Ceci…”

“Oh, no, shit, I’m sorry. Fuck. Didn't you listen to our voicemails?”

“No, I was too scared to,” Liam says, with a breathless laugh.

“Ceci said her flight to Napa got bumped up, she came to fetch Sunday a bit early, so I turned her over.” Louis gnaws at his lip. “That alright?”

“Yeah, 'course it is! Did she pack all her stuff?”

“I think so.”

“Toothbrush?”

“I didn't check, love. I had a bit of a snit with your ex-wife, and she was standing there staring daggers at me.”

“Wait, what happened?"

“I'll fill you in later. Just come home so you can have a beer with Niall before he goes.”

Niall gives a thumbs up.

“Alright, on my way,” Liam says cheerfully.


	2. Chapter 2

CALABASAS, NOVEMBER 28, 2024

On Thanksgiving, Louis wakes up with a nosebleed. He shuffles off into the toilet and has a slash while he's stuffing toilet roll up his nose, then comes back to bed to find he's woken Liam, who's yawning in the blue darkness.

“Oops,” Louis says in a nasally voice. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, I’m up now,” Liam says, and looks blearily at his watch. “It’s eight, anyway, I have to put the turkey in.”

Louis climbs back into bed, snuggling against his warm solid form. Liam gingerly removes the bloody tissues from his nose and tosses them onto the bedside table. One of them lands on top of their fancy square clock radio.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs happily. “I can feel someone moving.”

Liam buries his nose and mouth in Louis’ hair. “Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah… I thought I felt somethin’ yesterday, but I wasn't sure…” He stretches out against the pillows and slips the comforter down, then takes Liam’s hand and guides it to his belly. “Right here. You won't be able to feel yet...”

Liam presses his hand very firmly to him and goes entirely still, like he's trying to disprove this.

Louis smiles. “Not for like a month, love.”

“I know, I remember… I just thought maybe ‘cos it's two of ‘em..."

“I wonder which one it is who’s moving,” he says, closing his eyes so he can concentrate on the faint fluttering inside him.

Liam pulls him close by the collar of his shirt so they can lie face to face, and wraps an arm around him. Louis scoots closer, so his middle is pressed to Liam’s flat stomach, and Liam presses his lips tenderly to Louis’ hairline. They lie there like that, dozy and happy.

”What d’you think they’ll be like?” Liam whispers.

A smile springs to his mouth. ”Oh, I dunno... good kids, I hope... I hope they’re close with each other...”

”Me too...”

About ten minutes go by before the door inches open a crack. A slim rectangle of light from the hall spills onto the bed, and a little dark head appears in the doorway.

“Hi,” Mia whispers. “We’re awake.”

Louis sits up sleepily. “C’mere, kiddo.”

She comes in and jumps up onto the bed, her hair bouncing in its messy bun. She's got her cupcake pajamas on. “Happy turkey!”

“Happy turkey,” they chorus back to her.

“I felt the babies,” Louis tells her conspiratorially. 

Mia lights up. “Yeah? What's it feel like?”

“A little flutter,” he says. “Like a butterfly landing on you.”

She studies him in fascination. “Did you used to feel me?”

“Oh, yeah. You kicked me all the time.” He reaches out and gently tweaks her nose; she wriggles away with a laugh.

Amir appears in the doorway, then, with Sunday behind him. They peer in, two dark-eyed little waifs. The two of them are funny; they have a sort of wordless fraternity between them. It's nothing like Amir and Mia’s chatty, boisterous relationship.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Sunday chirps.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Louis, Liam and Mia all chorus.

The two of them thunder in and jump up on the bed, too. Luckily it’s big, and the kids are little.

“Can we feel the baby?” Mia says.

“You can't feel them move yet, no,” Louis says. “You can feel me if you like, anyway.”

Amir makes a face. “Yuck.”

“‘Scuse you,” Louis protests. “What's yuck?”

“There's  _people_  inside you,” Amir says, inexplicably accusatory. “That's weird.”

“You were in me, at one point,” Louis says. “In fact, I made about a third of the people on this bed right now.”

Liam laughs.

“Weird,” Amir says. “What’d I do in there?”

“Made me throw up, mostly.”

“Can I feel?” Sunday says shyly.

“Yeah, course,” Louis says.

Liam moves out of the way so she can come over. She touches him very tentatively, laying a hand right under his belly button.

“And they’re both my siblings?” she says, her voice soft with curiosity.

“Yeah, love. They're everybody's siblings,” Louis says. “Your’s, Amir’s, Mims’s.”

“And you're just making them in there,” she says. “Like a... pie?”

Louis laughs. “I am making you lot a couple of pies, yeah.”

Sunday looks up at him. “Can they be girls?”

“I don't get a say in it,” Louis says. “I wish I did. I'd take a poll.”

“One boy, one girl,” Mia says. “Like me and Amir.”

“Two girls,” Sunday says.

“Two boys,” Amir says, cutting his eyes at her.

“Noo,” Sunday says sadly. “That's too many boys.”

“It's not!”

“I was joking about the poll bit, loves.”

“How d’you get a baby?” Sunday says, looking at Liam, who makes a face like he's swallowed his tongue.

“Oh, I know,” Mia says immediately, raising her hand. “Can I tell her?”

Louis shoots her a sharp look. “No.”

“Plea-ease,” she begs.

“Daddy?” Sunday says.

“I've told you, love, that sometimes when you love somebody,” Liam says, fumblingly, “you can, um, plant a seed in them, and then it turns into a baby.”

“But where do you get the seed?” Sunday says.

“You, ahh… I have one half and Louis has the other, and we put them together.”

“But where do you get it?”

Liam is very decidedly not making eye contact with anyone. “I  _really_  need to go do the turkey,” he says to no one in particular.

“You don't really have to love somebody to make a baby with them,” Mia stage whispers.

Sunday looks utterly scandalized by this revelation. “You don't love each other?” she exclaims to Louis.

“No, I love your dad dearly!” he assures her.

She turns to Liam, who's gotten up and begun inching toward the door. “You didn't love Mummy?”

“No, of course I loved Mummy!” Liam says, shrugging a silk robe on. “Mims, please don't cause trouble.”

Mia puts her hands in the air. “I'm just saying what I know.”

“Well, quit it,” Louis puts in.

“How come we get to know, but Sunday doesn't?” Amir says.

“Because me and Zayn make decisions for you, and Liam and Ceci make decisions for Sunday.”

Mia looks confused. In the background, Liam successfully sneaks out the open door and into the hallway.

“Who's going to make decisions for those babies?” she says, pointing at his middle.

“Don't point, it’s rude. Me and Liam are.”

“Not Dad?” Amir says.

“Love, why would your dad make decisions about me and Liam’s babies?”

Amir shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Why did Daddy plant two seeds?” Sunday says.

“He didn't mean to, kiddo. It’s more of an art than a science. Alright, that's enough badgering for one morning. Go get dressed, clean yourselves up, we’ve got company today.”

The girls scamper off the bed and into the hall, but Amir lingers.

“What's up?” Louis says to him.

“I guess I do want to feel,” he says.

Louis smiles. “Then get over here, you.”

Amir comes close and stretches a tentative little hand out. “Oh,” he says in surprise.

“What?”

“It doesn't feel how I expected.”

“What'd you expect, Billy boy?”

Amir shrugs. “I dunno. How big are they?”

“Size of limes, maybe?”

“How d’you know?”

“I’ve got an app that tells me. I'm so shit about my milestones anymore, though. With you and your sister, I was really on top of that stuff...”

Amir starts gently poking him in various spots on his middle. Louis smiles at him.

“You were in my tummy when I married your dad,” he murmurs. “I was three months pregnant, and you were the size of a peach. I remember that.”

Amir looks up curiously. “I was  _how_  big?”

He brings two hands together to demonstrate.

“Really? I was that small?”

“You were very small. But you were there.”

Amir looks pleased. “You never told me that before.”

“I know,” he says. He worries about the day his son finds out what it means, usually, to get married while you’re pregnant. He’s alright with them someday realizing they weren’t planned — he can’t hide that fact from them, and he doesn’t want them to think there’s anything shameful about it, besides. But Louis doesn’t want them blaming themselves for his and Zayn’s ill-fated marriage. Because while it’s true that he almost certainly wouldn’t have married Zayn if it weren’t for the kids, he has no real regrets about any of it. 

“Was Mia there?” Amir asks.

“Yeah,” he says, “she was our ring bearer. She tried to eat the rings.”

Amir laughs. His laugh sounds just like Louis’.

 

*

 

Liam spends all morning getting things in the oven, basting the turkey, peeling apart crackly garlic skins and mincing the meat inside, chopping vegetables like he’s on Masterchef. Louis spends all morning corralling the kids and trying to distract Liam whenever he's got a spare moment — flirting wickedly with him, swanning into the kitchen and trying to steal a kiss, or a bite of food, or both.

Liam keeps nudging him away so he doesn't burn himself, but at one point Louis is driving him so batty that he pushes him up against the island and stuffs his tongue in his mouth. Louis goes boneless against him and shoves his hands down the back of Liam’s jeans, and they snog hard for a minute or two before Liam pulls away to go check on the sauce he's making.

“Hmm,” Louis purrs from behind him. Liam hears the scrape of one of their barstools, and he turns to see Louis has taken a seat at the island. “Think I'll hang around and see if there's more where that came from.”

“Maybe we’ll have time for a quickie later,” Liam says, glancing toward the hall and then at the staircase in case of sneaky children. “Y’know, this all looked like more fun on Friends.”

“Later, sure… or now could be good,” Louis says.

Liam is finding it very hard to say no to him. He’s rakishly attractive, today; he’s had a haircut without a shave, his arse looks great, he's got a glow about him, and he's wearing red. Liam likes him in red.

“Remember the Thanksgiving bit we did with Seacrest?” he says. “That was funny.”

“I have  _needs_ ,” Louis continues, entirely ignoring this attempt at a diversion. “I've got double baby hormones. Think how hard that is. Think how big a horn I've got on.”

Liam grins. “I know, babe, it must be murder.”

“And you’re so cute in your little apron.”

“I'm the hostess with the mostess.”

“I'm hungry,” Louis says. “Anythin’ I can eat off of?”

“No! Have some carrots and hummus.”

“I want potatoes. Have you finished the mashed potatoes?”

“No,” Liam lies.

“Yeah you did,” Louis says, breaking into a grin. “I saw you makin’ ‘em earlier, and I don't see ‘em now, so you must have finished ‘em.”

“You leave my potatoes alone. What are the kids up to? Can you go bother them instead?”

“They’re playing Madden, actually. In the den.”

“Really?”

“I told them American football was traditional on American Thanksgiving, but I put the game on and they got bored, so.”

“Who's playing, today?” Liam says distractedly, and pulls open the oven to check on the turkey. The oven’s a bit too fancy for him; it's got a million racks and knobs.

“Hmm,” Louis says. “The Steelers?”

“Oh, them and Green Bay.”

“Right. Can you fetch me a glass of water?”

Liam gets a glass and leans one arm over to press it into the fridge’s water dispenser while still stirring the sauce with the other.

“Two ice cubes,” Louis says.

“Alright…”

“And can you get me a digestive? Actually, two digestives?”

“Plain or chocolate?”

“Chocolate. Actually, three digestives. And a magazine?”

“Love,” Liam says gently. “I'm cooking, here.”

Louis pouts at him. “But I'm pregnant, what's the point of being pregnant if I can't make you fetch me things?”

“Make the kids wait on you.”

“I  _have_  been,” Louis says. “But then Amir told me he’s going on strike for wages, and Mims says she's striking with him. And Sunday said she won't cross a picket line.”

Liam laughs. “Well, at least they've got principles.”

“Fuck their principles, I want a biscuit.”

Liam turns the burner off, opens the cabinet to grab the entire pack of McVities, then comes over to him and drops it into his lap.

“Thank you,” Louis says, his eyes twinkling. “Have a kiss for being a gentleman.”

Liam leans down, and Louis wraps his arms around him and bites at his bottom lip.

 

*

 

Liam finally finishes the sides around five, checks on the turkey one last time, tosses his dirty apron down the laundry chute and goes into the parlor.

Their guests have all arrived and are chatting with Louis; it's Niall and Winnie, Colleen from Modest and her wife Heather, and Liam’s friend Nathan. They're all Brits who thought it would be funny to do Thanksgiving in America — not Brits-giving, but a real honest-to-God one, with American football on TV and table decorations. Niall even threatened to break out that American accent he's spent he last five years perfecting.

They all shout “Finally!” to Liam when he walks in, and Niall hands him a somewhat lukewarm beer. Liam he settles next to him on the couch and toasts the crowd in general.

“What's up, you lot?” he says.

Louis, who's perched on the ottoman in the middle of everyone, grins. “I'm telling them about the time we got pulled over when we were driving out in wine country last year, you remember?”

“Oh my God, yeah,” Liam says, laughing. “I swear that cop was gonna murder us.”

“I mean, it's fair, he was properly creepy. I sort of thought so, too.”

“Please, you  _absolutely_  thought so,” Liam says, sipping his beer and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “You asked me to remind you if it was normal in America that the plods keep guns on them.”

“ _Anyway_. He says, wait here, I'm goin’ back to me car, and then he walks away, and Payno turns to me and goes, ‘He's gonna kill us and bury us in a fuckin’ cornfield!’”

“So what did he do?” Nathan says.

“Murdered us, obviously,” Louis jokes.

“Gave me a ticket for speeding,” Liam says. “Even though there was no one else on the road!”

“That does sound like the setup to a horror film,” Niall says.

“Aww, they don't make no horror movies about wine country,” scoffs Winnie.

“So what're we eating, Liam?” Heather says, glancing over at him from the other sectional. “What do they usually have on Thanksgiving? Besides the turkey and the pumpkin things, I know about those.”

“Mashed potatoes,” he says. “Green beans. Asparagus and brussels sprouts. Bit of ham. Yams. Oh, cranberries, and stuffing. And cornbread. And bread pudding. And mac and cheese. Sweet pies, savory pies, too. I bought the pies, admittedly, I don't bake much.”

Niall laughs. “He's gonna feed us t’ death.”

“ _Love_  that about America,” Winnie says with relish.

“Take leftovers home, all of you,” Liam says.

“Thanks Gran,” Niall says cheekily, and Liam mimes socking him in the shoulder. “Will do.”

Thunderous little footsteps sound from down the hallway; the three kids appear in the doorway and shout “Uncle Niall!” in unison.

“Ayyyy!” he shouts, and then drops to his knees on the carpet, wincing a bit.

They bolt over to him and hug him with such vigor that he tumbles onto his back on the floor with them, laughing until he wheezes. “Nooo! I need more arms!”

“You're gonna need a few more, soon,” Louis says, and he gives Liam a warm, private little smile. Liam beams back at him, tingling with happiness.

“I'll get eight, just to be safe,” Niall says. “Octopus uncle.”

“Did you bring us presents?” Sunday says eagerly.

“‘Course,” Niall says. “Holiday crackers for everybody, they're in me jacket.”

“What do we say, kids,” Louis says.

“Thank you!” they all chirp.

“When can we eat?” Amir say, glancing up at Liam.

“‘Bout an hour,” he says.

Amir collapses theatrically on the ground next to Niall, who laughs and pats him on the chest. “That's forever!”

“I’ve got appetizers,” Liam adds.

“Ooh, I'd like an appetizer,” Nathan says.

“Can I get a glass of wine?” Heather puts in.

Liam gets to his feet with a groan. “Yep, can do. Louis?”

“Uh, potatoes, please,” he says, smiling.

“Can I have potatoes too?” Mia asks.

“Tommos, the potatoes are for  _dinner_ ,” Liam says patiently.

“You're so  _mean_  to me, today,” Louis jokes. “Louis, stop eating my potaaay-toes. Louis, stop pinching my arse. Louis, stop knocking the ladle out of my hand, it's not  _funny_. I've been annoying you for nearly fifteen years, why d’you choose now to stifle me?”

“He's got a point,” Niall says from the floor. His hair’s gotten a bit long on top, and Sunday’s begun braiding it with a very studious look on her face. Winnie watches this, smiling fondly. 

Liam points to Louis very seriously. “I am not giving you any potatoes before dinner.”

Louis shakes his head. “Can you lot believe I'm marrying this monster?”

“I'm half about to call the police on him,” jokes Colleen. “Can't bear to watch this.”

“Hey, Heather,” Liam says, “did you want white or red?”

“Oh, he's ignoring me now,” Louis says.

“Red please!” Heather says, a bit tipsily. She's got two empty beers in front of her.

Liam comes over to Louis and wraps his arms around him, attacking him with a flurry of kisses. Louis laughs and pats him on the bicep.

“Want some carrots and hummus?” Liam says.

“Oh, you son of a bitch… Yeah, alright, fine.”

“I want carrots too,” Amir chirps.

Liam puts his thumb up. “I'm on it.”

 

*

 

Their guests finally stumble out the door around midnight, wine-drunk and carrying large bags of leftovers with them, shouting affectionately to Louis and Liam in the doorway as the women try not to get their heels caught in the cobblestones. Niall’s still sporting two tiny braids in his hair that Sunday had tied off with the rubber bands she uses to tie her horse’s mane when she does it for shows. Paddy’s got his arms around both him and Winnie — he ended up coming by toward the end, and helped them kill the mashed potatoes and the last bottle of red.

Liam’s quite tipsy himself, and when the last car pulls out of the driveway, he turns his attention to Louis, who is unbearably sexy to him right now. Something about him; maybe it's the little catlike smirks that were on his face all through dinner as he sat there, the only one sober besides the kids.

“I can't believe Mia made all that fuss about wanting to try turkey, and she had half a piece off my plate and didn't even like it,” Louis says, shaking his head. “I told her!”

“I wanna fuck you,” Liam slurs in his ear, then kisses his cheekbone. “You look like a peach. You're a peach boy.”

Louis grins at him. “That a good thing?”

“Yeah…”

“Let’s get you into bed, love, you're a bit wasted.”

Liam didn't mean to drink at dinner, really; he already had a few glasses of wine while he was cooking. But Ceci called while they were eating and made him let her talk to Sunday, so they had gone off into the kitchen together, and Liam listened to one end of their stilted conversation. He feels terrible for his daughter. She tries, she really does, but Ceci hasn't spent enough time with her in her more formative years to  _know_  her. Her recent efforts to magically undo this have only been marginally successful, and Liam suspects Sunday thinks it's her fault, when it's just not. He would tell her this, but he’s afraid that if turns out she doesn't actually think that already, he's going to plant the idea in her head.

Sunday finally handed the phone back to him after a few minutes and dashed off back into the dining room. Liam sat at the island in the darkness and held the phone back up to his ear.

“Thanksgiving should have been mine,” she said quietly. He could hear her voice echo, and figured she was probably hiding out in the cavernous library of her parents’ place in the Hamptons.

“She didn't want to go. I don't know what you want me to do.”

“You're punishing me. You're never going to forgive me for leaving you.”

“Wrong,” Liam said, choking back emotion. “I'm not going to forgive you for abandoning  _her_. I don't care what you did to me. I'm an adult. I can handle it.”

“Can you? You sure ran off and started a new family as quick as you fucking could.”

“You're engaged too! What was I supposed to do? Pine over you forever? Die of loneliness?”

Ceci says nothing.

“You just hate that the tables’ve turned,” Liam said, “and you're the one who wants me back, and I've moved on. But you know what? I'm not happy about it. I feel terrible about it, and guilty. I want the best for you, I want your happiness. I wish you'd come to me four years ago and said you wanted to work things out, but you didn't, and I'm really happy now, and I need you to respect that.”

“You know what? Shove this Saint Liam shit up your ass,” she snapped. “You still had feelings for him while you were with me, after he threw you away like dog shit. Sure, when he dumped his husband he came crawling back to you, but maybe you should watch out, Liam. How long until he throws you aside again?”

“Don't talk about shit you don't know anything about.”

“He doesn't seem to have a great attention span, is all I'm saying.”

“I’m not doing this, Ceci. Bye.”

He hung up, as forcefully as you can hang up an iPhone, took five deep breaths and went back into the bright happy dining room with a big fake smile on his face. Then he sat down and polished off about a bottle of wine.

So he's definitely drunk, now, as Louis leads him through their atrium foyer, flipping the lights off as he goes. The kids have been asleep for hours, and now that the company is gone, the house is that nighttime shell of itself that it becomes. A big empty tomb. Dark, silent, lovely.

He finds relief in their cheery little bedroom, like he always does, laden as it is with the evidence of their domesticity. He watches as Louis strips for bed. The baby bump is such a funny apparition, this sudden parenthetical on the sturdy slenderness of him, growing more pronounced every day.

Louis comes to him and helps him pull his shirt off his head. Liam is so fuzzy and sleepy from the wine, he can barely get his arms up to help. He yawns.

“Come along,” Louis murmurs, leading him off to bed.

Liam follows obediently. Louis claps the lights off, and in the darkness they snuggle under the covers. Bo is already asleep in his bed at the foot of theirs, lightly snoring.

“Hey,” Liam murmurs.

Louis spoons up against him. “Hi. You alright?”

Liam slings an arm around him, burying his face against the back of his neck. His hair tickles Liam’s upper lip. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for dinner, by the way… it was fantastic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you kidding? You see the mad dash for the leftovers? I think all we've got left is turkey.”

“Good… I like feeding everybody.”

“I know you do.”

Liam plays with Louis’ hair. “Hey,” he says softly. “‘M drunk… can I ask you something stupid?”

He laughs. “Sure.”

“D’you feel like I'm, y’know, the one?”

Louis rolls over and nudges his shoulder against Liam’s chest. Liam sits up a bit, and they look at each other in the dark. “Sorry, love, you're slurring. Are you what?”

“The one. For you.”

“Of course,” Louis says, breaking into a smile. “What are you, stupid?”

Liam laughs. “I don't know! I don't think you've ever quite said it…”

“I haven't? I should’ve.” He reaches up and strokes Liam’s face. “I dunno. We’re solid, aren't we? I never feel like we've got to do these big overtures ‘cos, like… We just know. I mean, you're it. I'm done. Retire my jersey.”

Liam smiles back at him. “I do like to hear it once in a while. I like an overture. I dunno. That stuff just sort of comes out of me…”

“Sorry. I know. I'm more guarded.” He mock-pouts. 

“It's okay. I just get insecure, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be insecure. I didn't spend half my life doing whatever stupid shit I could to get you to trust me and like me and pay attention to me for us to fuckin’ be pregnant and nearly married, and you still not be sure I love you.”

He laughs hard at this. “Alright, fair.”

“Because I do. I love you very much. I've done felonies to get you to pay attention to me, Payno.”

“It was a stupid question.”

“Did I tell you this summer I had a nightmare you died?” he says, searching Liam’s face. “It was horrible. It felt so real. And I just remember feeling like I didn't want to do anything, like there wasn't any point to anything anymore. I felt like I lost half of me. I woke up and I was so relieved, nearly started crying.”

“Nooo, no,” Liam says, feeling terrible, stroking his hair. “I won't die, love, I swear. I work out a lot.”

Louis grins at him.

“My mum always says if you dream someone died, it means they're gonna have a baby,” he adds. “So maybe you're just a bit psychic.”

“Ha, I never knew about that. Maybe I am.” Louis is quiet for a few moments. “Are you afraid of me leaving you? Is that why you're asking me this shit?”

“A little bit,” he admits.

“You shouldn't be."

“Been left before.”

“I’m not her, alright?”

“Been left by  _you_  before,” he murmurs.

“Oh, Liam.” Louis sounds deeply hurt, almost incredulous. “You serious with that shit? Come on...”

“Alright, I'll stop.” Liam slides down on the bed and presses tipsy, mouthy kisses to the warm swell of his belly. “Hi babies.”

“Hi Daddy,” Louis murmurs.

Liam lays his cheek down on Louis’ tummy. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his chest getting tight and hot. “I know how much you love me, I do.”

”Good...” He sounds relieved. “You scare me when you say shit like that, you really do.”

”I know, I’m sorry. I’m just so all-in with you, and I never thought I’d feel like that again... it’s intimidating...”

”I never wanted to hurt you, Payno, in a million years... and I never wanna hurt you again, alright? So don’t push me away, please.” He sounds so sorrowful that it punctures Liam’s chest like a dagger. “You know I hate that more than anythin’ else. All I want is to feel close to you.”

”I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He kisses Louis’ tummy one more time. ”I’m drunk, I’m being stupid. You’re my heart, alright?” He swallows back tears. “My call with Ceci was shitty, that’s all... it’s just leftovers from that... it ain’t you, not at all.”

”Oh,” Louis says, his voice soft. “You could’ve just said...”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

”You’re not stupid.” Louis strokes his hair. “Don’t call yourself stupid.” He clears his throat, then says more lightly, “So what’re we gonna name these?”

“Vic and Bob?”

“Ha, I like it…”

Liam returns to him, settling in the crook of his arm. He reaches one hand up to Louis’ face and cups it in his hand, running a thumb over his stubbly jaw, trailing his fingers down Louis’ opposite cheek, tracing the delicate structure of his face. Louis keeps running his fingers through Liam’s hair, gazing at him from under lazy lids. They lie in silence for a while until Louis murmurs, “D’you wanna have sex, still?”

“I do, but I'm so sleepy,” Liam murmurs. “An’ my dick is sleepy.”

“Let's just let your dick sleep, then. I've got heartburn pretty bad anyway.”

“Poor Lou-Lou.”

“It's alright.” He kisses Liam on the head. “I’m buzzing to find out what they are next week.”

With difficulty, Liam motivates his exhausted drunk brain to move his arm down and pat Louis clumsily on his middle. “I know… me too…”

“Our teeny whatevers.”

“I think two girls.”

“Really?”

“Just a weird hunch,” he says sleepily. The wine is making his eyelids very heavy and hot, and he's comfortable in Louis’ armpit.

“What do you want, though?”

“I’m honestly happy with whatever.”

“You want a son? You haven't got one of those yet.”

“Ha, it ain't a stamp collection… Might be nice, though.”

“Be really nice, yeah,” Louis murmurs.

 

CALABASAS, NOVEMBER 30, 2024

Sunday has to wander the house a bit before she finds Liam and Louis in the den, giggling softly with each other on the floor. 

She leans on the door, watching, not wanting to interrupt them. They’re not kissing or anything, luckily. Just lying on the carpet, Louis on his back and grinning up at Liam, who’s got one hand pushing upon Louis’ sweatshirt, resting on his belly, and seems to be trying to take a picture with the other.

”Mind the angle, love,” Louis says to her dad.

“I got you, I got you...”

Louis stretches his arms up over his head. He’s still smiling. Liam is, too.

“And you’re not posting this anywhere, yeah?”

”I’m not,” Liam promises. “Not even after we announce it.”

”I mean, you can do after we announce it.”

”Nah, I like having some things for just us.”

Liam snaps off a few more photos, then leans down and presses kisses to Louis’ tummy. Louis closes his eyes and runs his fingers through Liam’s hair. Afraid they’re about to start kissing, Sunday loudly knocks on the ajar door. They jerk and look up.

”Hi angel face,” Liam says to her. Louis tugs his sweatshirt down, looking sheepish.

“Hi,” she says. “Bo threw up in the hallway.”

”Fuck,” Louis exclaims. “Like, his whole breakfast, or just foam?”

”I think his whole breakfast.”

Liam helps Louis to his feet; he’s swearing and shaking his head. “Might have to bring him back to the vet...” 

“Well, let’s keep an eye on him, first,” Liam says. 

They start talking about boring adult things; Sunday’s eyes glaze over a bit, and she gets to daydreaming. Liam cuts in by asking her if she wants to come on a walk with them and the dog. 

“Okay,” she says.

”Have you got any homework to finish?” Liam says.

She grimaces. “Yeah.”

”You want help?”

”It’s math...”

He laughs. ”I can help with second grade math!”

”But you guys always get confused, ‘cos it’s Common Core...” Sunday sort of wishes Amir were home on the weekends. During the week, she always goes to him for math help — he pretends to be annoyed, but he'll take the worksheet from her and finish the entire thing in a few minutes with no mistakes. And sometimes if he's in a good mood, he'll carefully walk her through how he got each answer.

”Ahh, that’s what the Internet’s for.” 

As they’re heading over to her, Louis suddenly stops next to the couch and plops down on the arm, his hand going to his middle. Liam looks him over, clearly worried. 

“Oh, they’re just movin’, loves,” Louis says, grinning and glancing between him and Sunday. “Takes me by surprise, still.” 

Liam leans in and presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. He seems so happy all the time, lately; Sunday can’t remember if she’s ever seen him like this. She’s glad for it, but sometimes it makes her sort of sad. He’ll never be like that with her mum again. They don’t even like being in the same room together. 

She likes Louis, though. He’s one of the only grown-ups she knows that‘s willing to do things like play tea party with them. And he stayed up with for hours her when she was sick, once. She’d wandered into their room, crying silently and wanting her dad, but Louis got up and fetched her before she could wake him, whispering, “He’s got an early meeting tomorrow, will I do instead?” 

Sunday said okay, because she just wanted some company, and he gave her medicine and tucked her back into bed, then read her stories for a while. When she started drifting off, Louis got up and kissed her forehead; she started crying again, overwrought with fever, and weeped to him, “I miss my mom.”

He said, “I know, love,” in a sad voice, and he didn’t leave her after that. He must have sat at her bedside until she fell asleep, because she doesn’t remember him ever getting back up.

 

TUSCANY, DECEMBER 1, 2024

“Wow,” Gemma remarks, tripping a bit in the wet grass as she backs up to get the full view of the chateau. “This place looks like a  _castle_. This isn't really a castle, is it?”

“Nah,” Harry says. “It was built like a hundred years ago. It's just supposed to look like one.”

“Yeah, look at the front facade, honey,” Andrew says, glancing at Gemma. “There's no way this would stand up against a real attack.”

“Well,” Gemma says, “I'm glad Hannibal isn't marching into Italy to kill my brother, then.”

Andrew laughs.

Harry shifts his black umbrella to his other shoulder; he’s been working out too hard lately, and his left tricep is bothering him. The rain continues to patter down on them, making the rolling green hills around the house glow, and casting everything with an eerie soft gray.

Angelos isn't here. He came with Harry to Tuscany, stayed a few nights, then rushed off to Milan to take care of something.

Harry asked him to stay. He gently reminded him, “You haven't seen my sister and brother-in-law since the wedding.”

Angelos was doing up his shirt, and didn't even look up as he replied, “I'll see them at Christmas, won't I?”

Lately everything's an argument. Harry blames himself; he thinks he’s picking fights without provocation. But nothing he asks for is unreasonable. It's just the same old problem, that Angelos has decided he no longer has to woo Harry, he no longer has to drop everything he’s doing to shower him in great acts of romance. He no longer has to even be around.

When they were dating, Angelos acted like their careers were the impositions, like anything that came between his time with Harry was a frivolous annoyance. Now it's Harry who's the frivolous annoyance. Harry and his emptiness, and his lonely heart, his longing dreams about Zayn, his constant aching chest and dry mouth. Being in Italy is awful; every time he sees a slender guy with dark hair, he's off tumbling. He's even come on to a few of them, taken them to nice hotels, fucked them anonymously against the silk sheets. For a few minutes, he's not empty, and then it comes roaring back as he's lying there in the wet spot.

He spent most of November shooting for this continually-delayed CIA movie, which has now gone into rewrites and will resume production god-knows-when. He's been trying to work on music, but everything he writes is pitiful, wannabe bluesy schlock. He can't put whatever he's feeling into words — he keeps sitting on a balcony of the chateau, writing in longhand and then burning what he writes. He likes to watch the smoke waft up in the air and melt away against the picturesque sky.

“Harry,” Gemma says, waving her hand in front of his face.

“Yeah?”

“Were we going to have some brunch?”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

They start walking back up to the house.

“Where do you keep going on us?” she says quietly.

“Nowhere,” he says. “Just in a funny mood. Didn't sleep right.”

Gemma cuts him a look like she knows he’s lying. He doesn't meet her eyes.

 

*

 

Harry’s phone goes off when he wanders into the kitchen to refresh the bowl of fruit salad. It's Niall.

_Hey did you say youd be in london the week of the 20th?_

_Yeah_ , Harry says.  _For xmas. Did you just want to meet up then?_

_yeah cos i just realized i won't be in LA anymore by the time you get here_

_Sorry mate.. I know I haven't seen you since the wedding_

_no worries x_

_How was Britsgiving?,_  Harry says.  _I got your snap, it looked fun_

_It was great. Really lovely time_

Harry is suddenly struck by the dangerous urge to ask,  _Was Zayn there?_ He stops himself.

 _Is Louis pregnant?_  he says instead. Despite the slimming effect of the turkey filter, it was obvious Louis had a bump under his sweater in the photo Niall sent.

_He is yeah. Bout four months I think_

Harry feels a faint pang of envy.  _Aww good to hear. Good for them_

Niall sends a happy emoji. Harry’s fingers hover over his keyboard for a moment, but he doesn't say anything else. The two of them can talk in person.

He goes back to dicing the cantaloupe into very even cubes.

 

*

 

Gemma finds him that night after they've all gone to bed. She sneaks into his room, bundled up in sweats.

“Wow, it's even draftier in here than in our room,” she says.

Harry looks up from painting his toenails. “Did you see the space heater I left you?”

“Yeah, yeah we did.” She sits down on the edge of his bed. “So, what's up with you?”

He keeps painting. “Nothing.”

“Yeah?” Gemma says, gently. “Is that why you're so quiet, and keep zoning out, and get that look on your face every time I mention your husband?”

Harry glances up. “What look?”

She mimics it effortlessly.

“Oh,” he says, laughing. “That look.”

“Is everything okay with you two?”

Harry shakes his head.

Gemma comes closer and squeezes his arm. He swallows, steeling himself against the prickly heat in his eyes.

“What's going on, kid?” she murmurs.

Harry’s quiet for a while. He hasn't said what he's about to say out loud to anyone yet, and it sits nestled in his throat like a ball of briars as he finishes his toes.  _Flick flick_.

“I think I'm leaving him,” he says. “After the holidays.”

“Oh my God,” Gemma says, her voice hushed. “You serious?”

He tries to swallow over the briars. “I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Harry…”

He fucks up, then, and picks up a Q-tip to fix it with. "I'm alright," he says huskily.

“You sound like you're about to cry.”

“No crying,” Harry assures her. “Really, I'm fine.”

“But you said this was it,” she says, giving him a worried, woebegone look. “You were going to settle down, start a family.”

“I thought so too.”

“God. I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah.” He blinks hard and sniffs. “Me too.”

 

DECEMBER 2, 2024

**MORE 1D BABIES? LOUIS EXPECTING IN MAY, SOURCES SAY**

_One Direction hasn’t had a tour or a new album in almost two years, and industry sources say not to expect either in 2025… but one thing we can expect next year is for Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne to welcome their first kiddo together in May._

_Or should we say kiddos, because sources close to Payne have leaked exclusively to TMZ that the hip hop star and his bandmate-cum-fiancé are expecting twins!_

_The singers’ teams haven’t responded to a request for comment, but Louis has been staying out of sight for months, and proud dad Liam has apparently gotten a little loose-lipped in excitement. Aww!_

_Our tipsters have passed along that the pair started trying to conceive last summer, and say Louis is taking it easy until the babies come. Not much is changing there, since his last solo album dropped in 2021, and nothing indicates he’s working on another. He might be busy with the two kids he already has with ex (husband and bandmate) Zayn Malik._

_Congrats, boys!_

**318 COMMENTS  
** **CLICK TO VIEW**

Keyler1 (10 hours ago)  
_More BS from TMZ, I don’t believe it… he just posted a selfie two days ago he didn’t look pregnant_

^ Willby (10 hours ago)  
^ _it wasn't a body pic and his face looked like he could be_

CatrinaBebe (a day ago)  
_Damn they didn’t wait long. Not even married_

^ GRH (a day ago)  
^ _They’re engaged_

^ ^ Orel (a day ago)  
^ ^ _Louis locks them down by getting pregnant first then gets the ring_

^ ^ ^ luauwuau (a day ago)  
^ ^ ^ _yall are nasty people it’s almost 2025 can you relax? be happy for them it says they planned it!_

^ ^ ^ ^ Call em like I see em (a day ago)  
^ ^ ^ ^ _That band is a hot mess with how they fuck around with each other all the time and keep half-assing their actual jobs. The only one anyone’s going to remember in fifty years is Harry, because he’s an actual class act, he’s the Grace Kelly of his generation, married up and doesn’t waste his life in some weird adultery love triangle with his loser bandmates. The rest of them are either trash or boring (Niall). And that’s my 2¢._

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ luauwuau (a day ago)  
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ _wow call em like i see em, it’s cool you can see the future! i personally don’t think there’s anything wrong with two people who are in love and engaged having a baby, but you do you!_

capn (nine hours ago)  
_who???? why is this band always the front page of tmz lately??? teeny bopper shit and ugly tattoos to boot_

Rafaia (nine hours ago)  
_Awww! That’s nice for them. His kids with Zayn are SO cute_

hettie (nine hours ago)  
_Hes def pregnant he hasn’t been papped in like two months_

Rexg (eight hours ago)  
_Those babies are gonna come out and immediately start making bad music_

JJJJJJJ (nine hours ago)  
_Anyone in this thread live near Bakersfield and sell non-licensed weed? I can’t keep paying these dispensary prices_

^ NotACop (nine hours ago)  
^ _Yes I sell weed please step into my squad car so we can talk prices_

Fiona (nine hours ago)  
_I bet zayn is pissed off abt this_

^ jekyll (nine hours ago)  
^ _Why? They got divorced like 3 years ago and both moved on_

^ ^ Fiona (eight hours ago)  
^ ^ _Bc we know he hates Liam ever since whatever went down b/w the three of them. Plus I don’t think he’ll ever totally get over Louis honestly. He talks about him so tender in interviews and in pics of them together he’s always smiling and laughing. That’s his baby moms!_

^ ^ ^ jekyll (seven hours ago)  
^ ^ ^ _Wishful thinking. Everyone says they’re way over each other_

ORIOLES (seven hours ago)  
_LOUIS A THOT_

 

 

CANOGA PARK, DECEMBER 3, 2024

The anatomy scan takes forever. Louis tries not to fidget as Georgia moves the wand over him, painstakingly searching the babies. When she announces that they look perfect, he lets out a soft exhale, and Liam takes his hand, gently squeezing it. 

“Now for the part you actually came for,” Georgia says, “I’ll tell you what you’re having.”

“You think you'll be able to see both of them today?” Louis says.

She makes a so-so gesture with her hand. “I think so,” she says. “Getting both twins can be tricky, but I  _am_  very good at my job.”

Liam, still holding Louis’ hand, pulls it to his chest and runs his other hand up and down his forearm. “Baby B’s been a bit shy, though, hasn't he? She?”

Georgia’s face changes, and she glances away from the screen, smiling. “Normally, yes…”

Louis grins. “What, you see something?”

“I do.” She ducks back into position behind the monitor, her pale complexion glowing blue from how close she's sitting. “And let’s see if we can get baby A…”

Louis squeezes Liam, his heart fluttering with excitement. “Babies...”

“Babies,” Liam repeats in a low murmur, and kisses his knuckles.

Georgia moves the wand to the left side of his stomach, then presses it in slightly. “Hmm. I think I have an answer for you.” She rolls her stool out from behind the screen. Louis fixes her with an intent look.

“Do we want to know?” she says.

“Yeah,” Liam exclaims. “Yes please.”

Georgia smiles, flashing her extremely white teeth at them. “You've got two boys, here.”

Liam lets out a shout of joy and squeezes his hand. All the blood rushes to Louis’ head; he starts laughing in delight. “Really?”

“Yep! Two boys for two boys. Real boys’ club you guys have going on.”

“C’mere, c’mere,” Louis says to Liam breathlessly.

Liam perches on the arm of his chair and wraps his arms around him, kissing him wildly all over, landing one by accident in his ear. They both start giggling at this.

“Two sons,” Liam murmurs, smoothing Louis’ fringe back. “Two? That's so many!”

“It really is,” Louis says, still laughing uncontrollably. “Fuck’s sake…”

Liam gazes at him, his dark eyes shining. “We’re gonna have two boys?”

“We really are…”

They kiss again. When they separate, Louis gazes at his sweet face with hungry curiosity. Every feature and expression is as familiar as ever, but it’s like a new day has dawned on him. Suddenly Louis can't get enough of him, wondering what of his their babies will get.

Liam is gazing back at him. “Hi,” he murmurs, like there’s no one else in the room.

“Hi…”

 

*

 

They hang out in the car for a while when they get home, snogging like teenagers. They finally separate when Liam nails himself right in the stiffy with the Lambo’s gearshift and jumps away from Louis, groaning in pain.

“Oh no, Payno,” Louis says, trying not to laugh.

“ _That_  felt good,” he says, grimacing with his eyes squeezed shut. “Good job you're already pregnant, ‘cos I don't think I can have kids anymore.”

“Wanna go inside?”

Liam nods, still looking pained.

Louis reaches up and strokes his hair. “You're cute, you know that?”

“You're really pleased with me, aren't you?” he says, opening his eyes and smiling.

Louis presses his knuckles to Liam’s stubbly cheek. “Very.”

“I'm so excited to do this with you.”

“Oh, me too, love.”

Liam turns his head, takes Louis’ hand and kisses his knuckles again.

“You're gonna kiss that twenty-eight right off me,” Louis says with a chuckle.

“That's my new business idea,” Liam says. “Instead of lasering tattoos off, I kiss them off people.”

“‘Scuse me, you're not kissing anyone’s tattoos but mine!”

“Well, I don't do all the kissing personally, I've got employees. I just have the patent on the concept.”

“You wanna kiss my arse tattoo off?”

Liam grins.

“You never give me arse hickies anymore,” he adds. “I miss ‘em.”

“How d’you miss ‘em? They're on your arse, you can't see.”

“I see ‘em in the mirror, when I get in the shower. And then I think of you fucking me, and I jerk off. So you've really stuffed up my shower routine.”

Liam smiles. “Can we go inside? I think I have to ice my willy.”

“I want you to promise to gimme hickies.”

Liam leans forward and snogs him again, sucking hard on his bottom lip. Louis shivers and giggles.

“I'll give you lots of hickies,” Liam growls. “And I'm gonna fuck you real good.”

“Really? How good?”

“Real… real good. Real hard and good and…” Liam shakes his head, laughing. “All that.”

Louis kisses him on the nose. “Y’know, you’re lucky you have such a nice dick, you wordsmith.”

“You’re a chavvy little demon, you know that?”

“A chavvy little demon with an arse you love to suck on.”

“Alright, granted.”

They get out of the car; Liam, jiggling his keys in his hand, comes around to Louis’ side and presses him against the car, then kneels in the hard gravel and starts kissing him on the belly.

Louis chuckles and pushes his fingers into Liam’s thick hair. “You’re too much.”

“Come on…” Liam slides his tattooed hands up over Louis’ thighs, then settles them on his waist, and kisses him some more. “Let Daddy be too much.”

“Oh,  _God_.”

“Hey, you were the one calling me Daddy when we were in the Maldives...”

“Entirely different context.”

“I seem to remember it got you fairly hot.”

Louis grins down at him, his hooded eyes half-lidded. “Maybe.”

Gazing back, Liam kisses his belly one last time. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go in.”

 

*

 

“Kids!” Louis calls from the foyer up the stairs. Liam tugs his hoodie off him and hangs it up in the coat closet. He can hear Agnes puttering around down the hall.

“You know,” he says, studying Louis in the bright light of the overhead chandelier, “I think you look a bit more pregnant than you did yesterday?”

Louis wheels around, his eyes blazing. “Sorry, did you want to sleep with me tonight, or are you trying to make me have you sleep in the garage?”

“I mean it in a good way, honestly!” Liam exclaims, putting his hands up.

“How could that possibly be good?”

“I dunno! I think you look great when you're pregnant! You want a cup of tea?” He falters under Louis’ glare. “Two cups of tea?”

“What’s up, Dad?” Mia calls from the top of the stairs as she comes into view.

“Can you all come down for a sec?” Louis says. “Me and your ex-stepfather have to tell you something.”

Liam laughs. “Stop!”

Louis reaches over and smacks him gently on the bum.

“GUYS,” Mia screams over her shoulder. “C’mere!”

“Alright, don't bother if you're just gonna shout!” Louis says. “I can shout too.”

The other two come barreling down the hallway, and then all three of them race each other down the stairs for no particular reason.

“Be careful, kids, be careful,” Liam exclaims.

Sunday, Mia and Amir take a seat on the third step up from the bottom.

“What's up?” Mia says, resting her chin on her fist.

“So, we found out what the babies are,” Louis begins.

“Ooh,” Sunday says. “Is it girls?”

Liam sucks in a bit of air through his teeth. “We've got bad news for you on that, sweetie.”

Sunday turns to him. “Noo!” she exclaims, her face falling.

“Wait, is it a boy?” Amir says excitedly.

Louis nods. “They're both boys, kiddo. Two boys.”

Amir shouts with joy and leaps off the stairs, flinging himself at Louis, who wraps his arms around him, laughing gaily.

“Oh, sonny,” he murmurs. “I'm glad you're happy.”

“Well,  _we’re_  not!” Mia says.

“Yeah!” Sunday adds, pouting.

Amir wheels around and sticks his tongue out at them. “Suck it!”

“Alright, alright,” Louis says, tousling his hair. “Enough. Gloating’s not sportsmanlike.”

“Two boys,” Mia mutters. “Two smelly boys.”

“Yeah, but you can teach them to play football,” Louis says.

“I  _guess_.”

“What can I teach them to do?” Sunday says. “Nothing!”

“Maybe one of them’ll want to ride horses,” Liam suggests.

“They won't, you know they won't.”

Mia nudges her in the shoulder. “Maybe they will. Maybe they’ll be sensitive like Amir.”

“I am not  _sensitive_ ,” Amir seethes.

“It’s okay to be sensitive,” Sunday tells him, grinning.

“I’m NOT sensitive!”

“Girls, girls,” Louis says. “If he says he’s not sensitive, leave him be.”

Amir sticks his tongue out at his sister, who returns the gesture.

Louis comes over and perches next to them on the stairs, pulling them into a hug. Liam corrals in Amir, and they all collapse laughing into a big familial squeezefest.

 

*

 

“I think we can scavenge a bridge for this from that thing you were working on last year,” Liam says, turning away from the computer. “The sound is sort of similar.”

Louis looks up from where he's lying on the couch with his knees up and his keyboard resting against his thighs. “Hey, I still might use that song for myself,” he says defensively.

“For real?”

“Maybe?” He considers it. “Nah, no. I won't. Let's go ahead and use it.”

Liam nods and makes a note of this.

Louis plunks out a minor chord. “Can you come over here and kiss me?”

Liam laughs and rolls his chair over to him across the studio floor. “All this kissing’s very distracting, you know?”

“It helps me write,” Louis says with a cheeky smile.

Liam moves the keyboard aside and snogs him for a few moments. Louis is great to kiss, today; he's in such a good mood, all giggly and smiley, and he melts like butter whenever Liam touches him. He can't even think about what good sex they're going to have tonight without his cock throbbing.

“It is a bit weird,” Liam says when they separate, and flush-faced Louis is just lying there gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Writing just the two of us again. But good weird?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs.

Liam smiles. “You're not even thinking about music, are you?”

“I'm sorry, love, it's not me, it's the hormones,” he says, reaching up to pet at his chest.

“D’you wanna just go off to bed?”

“I’d love that,” he says, smiling dreamily. “But you know the kids are gonna interrupt us… we should wait ‘til they’re all asleep.”

“Right, right.” Liam hooks a finger in one of the beltloops of Louis’ jeans and tugs them down a bit. “I hear you.”

Louis laughs. “I don't think you do.”

“They won't bother us in the studio, they know we’re working in here…”

“You joking? They bust in here all the time!”

“God, you know what? What if when we have five of ‘em, we never get the chance to have sex again?”

“Don’t say that,” Louis exclaims. “We’ll work something out. We’ll fuck half-asleep in the pantry. Something.”

“We’ll work it out,” Liam agrees, and they have another kiss.

 

*

 

They fuck that night soon after they climb into bed; they both idly scroll through Twitter for a few minutes, and then Louis starts rubbing at Liam's cock in his boxers, which makes Twitter suddenly very uninteresting.

“What d’you wanna do,” Louis murmurs raspily, still rubbing him. “Doggy?”

“Whatever feels best for you, love…”

“Oh, I dunno. On my side?”

“We can do that.”

“But I want you really  _deep_ ,” he sighs.

Liam’s cock throbs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis whines, arching his back.

“Alright, stop that,” Liam says, chuckling.

“Why? You hard?”

“You've got your hand on me, lovey, you know I'm hard.”

Louis smirks. His eyes are half-lidded and warm. “I am too.”

“You think you can get on your knees?” Liam says, while shimmying out of his boxers.

“I think I can manage it.” Louis flashes his teeth in a grin and rolls over, getting on his knees and elbows. “Toss me that pillow?”

Liam grabs one for him and then fetches the lube off the bedside table, slathering it over himself. Louis shoves the pillow under himself and wiggles his hips.

Liam starts fingering him and leans down over him, pressing little kisses to his spine, the back of his neck, and his shoulders where he's freckly. “Baby,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs back. “Get in there, would you?”

Liam laughs and bites him gently, then pushes into the tight heat of him. Louis moans softly, shifting against the bed.

“Harder,” he breathes. “Do me really ‘ard.”

Liam obliges, quickening the pace of his hips and burying his face against the nape of Louis’ neck. Louis is moaning and writhing under him, gripping white-knuckled at the sheets.

“Babe,” he exhales, “Liam, God, Liam…”

Liam thrusts harder, grazing his teeth against the top of his spine.

“Mmm…” Louis stretches his tattooed arms out across the bed and drops his head down between them, arching his back. “Daddy…”

Liam’s cock throbs. “Jesus,” he breathes.

“You like that?” Louis teases.

They fuck noisily for a while, the room filling with their moans and groans. Louis gets tired of remaining upright and moves onto his side in his nest of pillows; Liam follows after him, staying in him and starting to work his hips more gently. He reaches over and starts to stroke Louis’ leaking cock. The feverish heat between them is hypnotizing. Liam is lost in a thick haze, tethered only by Louis’ sweet little moans and the smell of his sweat, the feel of his hair tight between his fingers as Liam clenches it in his fist, the hot clutch of his arse as he fucks him.

“It's sorta hot,” Louis breathes.

“What?”

“You givin’ me two sons…”

Liam feels a hot pulse in his cock. He mouths at Louis’ ear. “Yeah?”

“You did a real good job.”

Liam nuzzles and kisses him, smoothing his hair up and away so he can suck a hickey on his neck where nobody’ll be able to see it the next day. Louis sighs happily and arches up against him.

Liam has a really nice, pulse-thudding orgasm that spreads through him like honey. For a few heady moments he feels so connected to Louis that he wishes he could live like this, just inside him all day long, limbs wrapped around each other.

“I wanna put a hundred babies in you,” he says insanely, pressing more kisses to Louis and paying more dedicated attention to jerking him off. “Like a seahorse. I wanna stay home and get you pregnant all day…”

Louis chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“How's that gonna work?”

“I dunno… I'll find a way…”

“A hundred babies?”

“Two hundred,” Liam purrs.

“That's a lot of babies,” Louis says, his voice all throaty and raspy like he's about to come.

“How’m I gonna be your good boy if I can't put two hundred babies in you?”

“You're my good boy anyway…”

Liam tugs at him more slowly, kissing up his jaw and over his cheekbone. Louis lets out a hiccupy moan and sags against him, then comes; Liam spreads his fingers stickily apart, grabs a flannel off the bedside table and wipes Louis’ semen on it.

Louis lets out a soft, pleased exhale and rolls over, nuzzling into Liam's chest.

“Hey… you never blow me anymore,” he murmurs.

Liam laughs. “I do so blow you!”

“It's just you're just so good at it,” he says sweetly.

“Uh-huh. I'll blow you next time we fuck, love.”

Louis kisses him on the chest. “Okay.”

“Hey, when's the last time you blew  _me_?”

“I blow you!”

“Not really…”

“Ahh, you know I don't like the taste.” Louis tweaks his nipple. “Let’s sixty-nine while we still can… that work?”

“I like it.” Liam slips an arm around Louis’ hips and lower back, pulling him closer.

He laughs. “You're so grabby...”

“Uh-huh,” Liam murmurs, and gropes at his thick arse with both hands. “I like you pregnant. Like you a bit rounder.”

“Do you?”

“I already said I did, didn’t I?”

Louis brings one of Liam’s hands to the side of his belly and lets it rest there. “Hey… I like the name Max,” he says tenderly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… one of the producers on me last album was a Max, me and him got tight… it's sort of grown on me. You like it?”

“Max is nice, yeah.”

“Good. I’d like it for one of ‘em, maybe…”

“Sure.” Liam rubs his thumb over him. “You ready to start making a list?”

Louis has been putting this off for a while; he’s seemed convinced that it would be tempting fate too much, like naming their babies would invite the universe to steal them away. But he seems calmer, now, somehow more at ease.

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “Let’s start a list.”

 

 

CALABASAS, DECEMBER 14, 2024

Both the staircase that goes from the first floor to the second — and the hallway the staircase leads into — wind through the partially open plan of the house in a way that means if the kids want to eavesdrop on one of their parents’ parties, it's very, very easy for them to sneak out of bed and do so.

There isn't a whole lot to eavesdrop on, since it's mostly drunken shouting and laughter, but Mia always likes listening after the adults think they've all gone to bed. And so far, the Christmas party has proven itself especially fun to listen in on.

Since they don’t get summers off, they're on holiday from school all month, so they're allowed to spend the first hour or two at the party. But no one is ever very drunk by ten p.m., and they're on the best behavior around the kids besides. Historically, around midnight is when Louis’ parties start getting good. Tonight is no exception — around 11:45, Ed gets on the piano in the parlor (which has a double-wide arch for a door, and is visible from the top of the staircase, if you lean) and starts playing dirty versions of Christmas carols that everyone sings along to.

Mostly Mia just likes the cheery chaos of all of it, being able to listen in while being tucked away in the shadows in her pajamas with Sunday and Amir, imagining how someday in the distant future they'll be downstairs with everyone, drunk and laughing and dancing, playing dirty songs on the piano.

“My dad’s drunk,” Sunday whispers. They're sitting a few feet back from the top of the stairs, watching the foyer as the late stragglers filter in.

Liam has come to get the door; he's wearing a Santa hat and exchanges happy drunken shouts with whoever’s just arrived.

“Usually it's  _our_  dad who's drunk,” Mia says.

“I don’t think he's allowed,” Amir says.

This particular late straggler is Nick Grimshaw, with their Uncle Harry in tow. Liam whispers something drunk that Mia can't quite catch; Harry whispers something drunk back, and they laugh hysterically.

Nick says a soft sentence that has “Louis” in it. Liam nods, sending his Santa hat askew, then shouts “Tommo!” through the house.

Louis comes after a minute, appearing from the hallway. He's got a funny Christmas sweater on. It has a drunk reindeer right over the baby bump, with spirals for eyes and holding a pint of beer in its hoof.

“Oi!” he shouts, and corrals Nick and Harry. “Didn't think you two would make it.”

“Hang on, lemme look at you,” Harry says, stepping back. He glances Louis up and down.

“Did you hear, then?” Louis says.

“Yeah, Niall told me…”

Mia observes them with curiosity. She's always been able to intuit that her dad has a kind of strained relationship with Harry, but he's never said why. If she asks, he just says, “Nah, nah, I love Harry, we grew up together,” and hastily changes the subject.

“Did he say it's twins?” Louis says, looking up at him. “Twin boys.”

Harry lets out a sort of weird, choked laugh, then turns and wraps his arms around a very happy Liam. They sway back and forth, chuckling and making little comments to each other that are too quiet to hear.

“I knew you two wouldn't wait long,” Nick says.

“That getting pregnant in wedlock shit, reckon it's just not my thing,” Louis says, and they all laugh. Mia isn't sure why that's funny, but she thinks she would might if she knew what wedlock meant.

Harry pulls back from Liam and says something that sounds like ‘mobble tob’.

“I'm going back to bed,” Sunday whispers, getting up. “I have to go to the barn tomorrow.”

“Oh, sod the barn,” Mia whispers back. “Stay. It's not even fun yet.”

“I have a show next week!”

“Fuck your show!”

Sunday laughs and flaps her hand at her, then disappears down the hall.

Amir army crawls into the spot she vacated and nudges Mia. “Dad just asked to talk to Harry in private, and they went away.”

“What?” She turns back around; Liam and Nick are headed toward the parlor, and Louis and Harry are headed down the hall.

They get up and creep after them from the next floor. Luckily, Louis brings Harry into the kitchen, where the stairs overlook and where there’s good acoustics.

Mia watches through the gaps between the railing. It's hard to see them; her view is obstructed by the two rows of track lights and all the plants hanging from the high ceiling.

Louis says something about a cup of tea; Harry says no thank you.

“So,” Louis says quietly. “Zayn told me about, y’know.”

Mia goes very still. Next to her, Amir has done the same.

“Did he just say Dad’s name?” he whispers.

“Shh!”

Harry murmurs something she can't hear. His voice is too low.

“Yeah, no, I know,” Louis says. “I don't want to get into it here, either. Or at all, really. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay with you.”

Amir and Mia look at each other, wordlessly communicating their curious confusion.

“I'm fine,” Harry says. “Really. And I'm sorry if… y'know. I don't want to bring up that awkwardness between us again. I really didn't even want you to know.”

“He tells me most everything,” Louis says.

Mia recognizes a little territorial tone in his voice. It's the same tone he gets when he talks to Sunday’s mum.

Harry says something else. She squints her eyes to try and hear better. He keeps mumbling.

“Look, I don't want to give you unsolicited advice,” Louis says. He leans on the island and rests a hand on his tummy, like he's always doing lately.

“What's ‘unsolicited’,” Amir mouths.

Mia shrugs.

“But, y'know. Zayn’s changed so much.”

“Louis… I'm still married…”

“No, I know.”

Mia can't wrap her brain around what they could possibly be talking about. What does Harry being married have to do with their dad? What do any of these things have to with each other? She has the same feeling of anxious frustration she gets when she sneaks a peek at one of Zayn’s books and tries to puzzle it out — there’s an impenetrable wall of vocabulary and adult understandings that shoves her back. Sometimes it feels like she’ll never understand these things. Especially not marriage, especially not divorce.

She knows Louis tries to talk plainly to her, though. He always has, and even more so than he does to Amir, who isn’t quite as desperate to grow up as she is.

“I appreciate what you're trying to do,” Harry says, then adds something else she can't hear.

“I just don't like what I've heard.”

“About what?”

“Your husband.”

Mumble, mumble. “... not really anything I want to get into with you.”

“I get that, I do.”

Harry says something else she can't hear.

“I mean, I also want you to know there's no problem on my end. If that was a concern for you.”

“Oh, good!” Harry says hotly, his voice getting louder. “I was waiting on your blessing. That's the only reason this is a difficult, complicated situation for me, is ‘cos I was so worried about what you thought.”

“You don't need to get bitchy with me,” Louis snaps. “I'm being fairly fucking magnanimous, right now.”

“No, you're being pushy and arrogant.”

Mia’s mouth falls open.

“Whoa,” Amir whispers, his eyes going wide.

Louis sets a glass down hard. It echoes through the kitchen and up into the hall. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Sorry. I’m just tipsy, I pregamed, and I'm not really in the partying mood… That's all.”

“You don't need to take it out on me.”

“‘M not.” He pauses. “Maybe I am. Um…” He says something else, something too quiet to hear.

“Shit,” Louis says, in a sympathetic way. “Sorry. I didn't think of that.”

Harry exhales hard through his nose. “Yeah.”

“I don't get it,” Amir says, glancing at her in the dark. “What are they talking about? I thought this was about Dad?”

“I think it is,” Mia mutters. “Somehow. I just dunno how.”

Harry clears his throat. “Look, it’s you and me… we don't have to go through the whole, like, thing…”

“You want to just ignore it?”

“Why not? Literally, why not? What's there to damage?”

“I don't want our relationship to be like this. I never did.”

“We grew apart, it’s normal.”

“That's not what I mean and you know it.”

“This just isn't something I really want to talk to you about.”

“Yeah, mate,” Louis says softly. “I get it.”

“I did mean it when I said congratulations.”

“I know you did.”

“Maybe I'm not meant for it,” Harry says, and laughs sort of insincerely. “Maybe I'll just be like Stevie. It's fine.”

“Haz, you're only thirty…”

Mia wonders who Stevie is, and what being like Stevie means.

“You don't know what's going on with me, so please don't act like you do.”

“Fine! Never mind!”

“I really, really,  _really_  can't talk about this,” Harry says. He sounds funny, all of a sudden. “Is there punch?”

“Yeah, in the parlor,” Louis says.

“Alright. I'm gonna…”

“Yeah, go ahead. Go find Ed, he was looking for you. He needs an accompanist.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

He strides away in his clacky boots, down the hall. Mia gets up and heads toward the front of the staircase, tailed by a yawning Amir.

At the bottom of the stairs they see Nick, who’s putting something back into his jacket pocket. His head jerks up when he hears footsteps, and he looks up at them, squinting into the darkness.

“Hi,” Mia says innocently.

“What do we have here?” he says, grinning. “Children out of bed?  _Tommo-ooo_!”

“Don't!” Amir exclaims.

“Nick, you're so  _mean_ ,” Mia says, stomping her foot.

Louis comes into view around the corner. Bo trots behind him, the two sleigh bells on his collar jingling. “Kids!” he exclaims. “What the hell are you doing up, it’s half midnight!”

“But we’re on holiday,” Amir says.

“Take pity on the little children,” Nick says, sniffing.

Louis glances at him. “Nick...”

“Yeah?”

“If you're gonna do that, for fuck’s sake please go in the bathroom.”

“Do what?” he says innocently, rubbing at his nose. Mia wonders if he's sick.

Louis pushes Nick toward the parlor door, then turns to the kids. “C’mere,” he says.

They hurry down the stairs toward him, slipping a bit in their pajamas.

“You can stay up for two Christmas carols,” he says sternly. “And that's it. And don't listen to them too closely.”

“We already know all the swears,” Mia says.

Louis wraps his arms around them and starts guiding them to the parlor. The sound of drunken conversation and tinkling piano keys are already pouring into the hall. “Not all of them.”

Everyone inside is red-faced, loud, and very happy to see the kids, which Mia loves, but it makes shier Amir shrink into Louis a bit. There are three people squashed onto the grand piano’s bench, and Harry is leaning across the top of it, his glass of wine tipping dangerously as he sings something Mia doesn't recognize.

Louis leads them across the room, over to the couch and leaves them in the charge of a very cheerful Liam, who’s laying back against the corner cushion. They snuggle up under his arms.

“Where's Sunday?” he says.

“Bed,” Amir says.

“We’re being bad,” Mia adds.

“Aww,” Liam says, “nah, I wouldn't want to miss the party either. Hey, Louis.”

He says it with a hard S, like Lewis, and Louis turns to him, laughing. “What?”

Liam points above their heads. “Mistletoe.”

All three Tomlinsons all look up. The room is bedecked with wreaths, pine garlands, and its own massive Christmas tree in the corner by the piano, so the mistletoe is hard to pick out. But there it is, dangling right above Liam's head.

“Oh, so you sat there on purpose,” Louis says with a smile, then leans in to briefly kiss him.

“How’s our boys?” Liam says softly, when they separate.

“They have the hiccups, right now. Or one of ‘em does, anyway.”

“Really?” Liam says in delight, and reaches up to touch his tummy, putting his hand right over the reindeer’s face. Louis slips his own hand over top of Liam’s, grinning at him with his eyes crinkling. They look really, really happy.

Mia snuggles up against Liam. He's very comfy to lie on. She could have sworn she wasn't tired, but the room full of people starts swimming, and the laughter and music grow more distant in her ears. She feels something on her back, then looks up and sees Louis is pulling a blanket over her. He does the same for Amir.

“Do your kids sing?” she hears someone yell.

Louis turns. “No,” he yells back. “We’re not any Von Trapp family.”

“But weren’t they featured on one of Zayn’s albums?” someone else calls out. It sounds like Liam’s friend Mike.

Mia looks over at him blearily.

“Yeah, making _baby_  noises,” Louis says, sounding amused.

“Amir plays piano,” Mia calls.

“Ahh! Right, he does!” cries Ed. “Tommo, bring him over here, yeah?”

Mia glances over at Amir, who looks reluctant. Liam squeezes his shoulder and whispers, “We won’t let him steal you.”

Louis takes one look at his son’s face, then holds a hand up to Ed and shakes his head.

“Alright, then  _you_  get over here,” Ed says. Louis laughs and makes his way through the crowd, taking a seat next to him on the piano bench.

Someone sits down on the couch next to them. Mia doesn’t bother looking up. She’s too comfy and warm.

“Alright, Steve?” Liam says.

“Wassup, Payno?”

“We weren’t sure you’d be able to make it.” Liam’s voice is funny when he’s drunk; deeper and higher at the same time.

“Yeah, I just got back into town. So, Zayn’s not here?”

“Nah, he couldn't make it.”

“Right… Is that just Zayn being Zayn, or does he usually miss your stuff?”

“What d’you mean?”

Mia, now desperately curious, opens her eyes just a crack.

“Yours and Louis’ parties,” Steve says. “Don’t know how well you two get along, these days —”

“Shh, shh,” Liam interrupts him in a whisper, “let’s not.”

“Ohh, shit, right, these are his kids, aren’t they?”

“Hi,” Mia peeps sleepily, wishing Liam hadn’t stopped him, wishing she knew what he had been trying to get at.

“Hi there,” Steve says with a chuckle.

“I think Zayn had other plans tonight,” Liam adds carefully. “He said he wishes he could’ve made it.”

“Right, sure,” Steve says, sounding like he doesn’t quite believe that.

Liam says nothing in response, but he squeezes Mia’s shoulder, the same way he just did to Amir.

 

 

*

 

Harry stares out the window for the first ten minutes of the ride home, the blue dark of Los Angeles blurring together in his drunken vision. Then he turns to Nick in the back seat and starts trying to rifle through his pockets.

“Hey, hey.” Nick pushes his hands away.

“Just a little,” Harry says, trying not to sound as crazed as he feels. “Just a bump.”

The partition is closed, but Nick glances toward the front of the car. “No,” he says. “‘Cos it’s never just a bump with you, you’ll put the whole bag up your nose, and that’s why you quit doing it. Anyway, Harold, the time for coke has _long_ passed. It’s four in the fucking morning.”

“Please,” Harry begs, completely aware of how pathetic he’s acting. He searches Nick’s face in the dark — Nick falters slightly, and Harry slips his fingers into the breast pocket of his jacket, digging for the baggie.

“No,” Nick snaps. He snatches it out before Harry can and rips it apart, dumping cocaine all over his jeans and the seats.

Harry stares at it. It looks like confectioner’s sugar. “Fine… Never mind.”

He creeps closer to Nick, testing his boundaries. Nick doesn't push him away, so he gets close and settles onto his lap, slipping a thigh over his thigh, drawing his lush bottom lip into his mouth.

Nick stares at him, holding his hands in the air. “Stop it.”

“Remember last time?” Harry says, all throaty. He’s gone beneath the surface of himself, slipped under and fallen away into the depths, and now he’s just on autopilot. This would work on anyone but Nick, who just seems repelled by it.

“What’s that  _voice_  you’re doing right now?” he says.

Harry leans in and kisses him. Nick goes soft under him, relenting for a few moments, slipping his hands over Harry’s hips.

It feels good, someone who actually loves him touching him, it feels really good. But the car rolls to a stop as they merge onto an on-ramp, and this seems to wake Nick up. He jerks his head away.

“I do remember last time,” he mutters, wiping his mouth. “You’re doing the exact same thing. You’re having sex _at_  me, not with me. I know you, you don’t really feel that way about me and I’m not drunk enough to pretend you do, so it's just insulting. I’m not one of your braindead models.”

Harry slides back off of him and curls up against the car door, guilty and humiliated. Tears spring to his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says quietly, rubbing his back. “Maybe you shouldn’t be out partying, right now.”

“I don’t have anything else to do,” Harry mutters. Heat is trickling down his cheeks. “Even if I wanted to be with Angelos, he’s busy.”

“Go see your family. Go visit some friends. Go get an early start on Christmas.”

“I’m too sad. I’ll make them sad. I’ll infect them.”

“Go see Zayn. Tell him you’re planning on getting a divorce.”

“He won’t believe me. He doesn’t even answer my calls anymore.”

“Did you try to call him?”

“In the toilet earlier,” Harry mutters. “I tried him like five times. He texted me to stop.”

“‘Cos you  _dumped_  him, dafty.”

“He’s probably gonna change his number again now.”

“Then ask Louis for his new one.”

Through his drunken haze, their earlier conversation flashes back to Harry. “Fucking Louis,” he mutters.

“What’d he do?”

“Oh, y’know… look at me and my beautiful kids, they play the piano! Look, I’m pregnant, again! I’m having like eight more babies! Hey, Harry, you can have Zayn if you want him, now that I’ve wrung him dry and tossed him aside, after you’d finally moved on with your life! Because I’m  _worried about you_!” He adopts a squeaky little voice. “We’re all  _worried about you_ , Harry! Neener neener!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what he said,” Nick says. “He said ‘neener neener’.”

Harry says nothing, just sits there crumpled awkwardly against the door of the Range Rover. In the wake of losing Zayn, all he could think of tonight was ten years ago, when Louis was pregnant with Mia — how the revelation that he’d been sleeping with Zayn for months had felt like a stake to Harry’s heart, the killing blow to their nearly-dead friendship, this one struck by Louis himself.

And then he’d had to look at him for months after, that entire miserable summer, while his stomach swelled with Zayn’s baby and everyone started treating him with such tender, reverent care.

Harry could say nothing to anyone, of course. The person he’d confided the most in about his relationship with Zayn had been Louis.

All of the feelings he’d aggressively repressed then, storing them up as ammo to use later in his solo work, they all came back to him tonight in a bitter flood. Louis standing there pregnant in his reindeer jumper, talking like Zayn was some old car he’d run into the ground but kept the keys to. The fact that he could still act the older brother after all this time was absolutely nauseating — the fact that Harry still somehow felt the younger brother, even more so.

“Hey,” Nick says, gently. “If you’re not pregnant by thirty-five… ring me up, I’ll do it.”

Harry snorts. “Cheers… thanks for throwing yourself on that grenade.”

“Look, you could have anybody in the world you wanted, Princess. But obviously what you want is a family, and with somebody who actually knows you, calls you on your shit, and sees you for who you are. Right? Sort of a tall order, all things considered. So, I’m just saying.”

“Thanks...” He sniffs. “Sorry. Dunno why I’m such a mess lately.”

“C’mere, c’mere…” Nick tugs on his sleeve. Harry sits up, wiping at his nose, then settles across Nick’s lap. He feels the cocaine on the side of his face, gritty and powdery.

Nick strokes his hair. “You’re not a mess. You’ve married the wrong person. It happens.”

“I thought he was gonna be perfect for me,” Harry says. His voice is hoarse. “On paper, he was…”

“Look, man, you don’t love him. You never did. And I thought so, but I didn’t say anything, because you seemed happy. Then you actually married him and it all went to shit, so maybe I should’ve.”

“I wouldn’t’ve listened to you anyway,” Harry mutters. “I’d’ve been like, shut up, Nick.”

“Yeah, you would’ve.”

“And I’m sorry for tonight, by the way.”

He laughs. “We've had worse evenings together.”

“I need to talk to Zayn in person,” Harry says. He sniffs again and wipes his eyes. “I need to tell him I was wrong and stupid, and I’m sorry. I pushed him away ‘cos I was scared. He was right. But I dunno if he’s gonna believe me that I mean it.”

“File for divorce, then,” Nick says.

He gives a hiccupy inhale. “I’m going to. After Christmas, I told you.”

“Show Zayn the papers. Shove them in his face. Fucking look at it, bruv. Look what I did for you. I left Prince Dickhead for you. I gave up being royalty, all for you, you handsome surly recluse.”

“I didn't do it  _all_  for Zayn… I wanted to want to be married, so fucking badly…”

“I know you did, Harold. You just picked wrong, is all.”

Harry sniffles again. Nick strokes his hair back from his forehead.

 

ATLANTIC OCEAN, DECEMBER 21, 2025

Liam manages to settle all the kids in front of a movie with noise-cancelling headphones firmly over their ears — it’s one of those Dreamworks flicks that glues kids under ten to the television like it’s audiovisual cocaine — and only then does he go and tell the pilot they’re alright to take off now.

They had a hell of a time getting ready to go to the airport. All of the kids were cranky about being woken up at seven a.m. over their holiday, and Louis was cranky in general. Liam found his patience wearing unusually thin when Louis’ kids refused to listen to him, and he finally barked at them in the car — their pilot had just rang him to ask where they were, and he couldn’t hear anything he was saying because of the din in the backseat.

Louis told him to relax, which pissed him off even more. Mostly because they’d been snapping at each other the entire morning, but also because it really grinds his gears to be undermined with Louis’ kids. They don’t listen to him as much as he likes, to begin with, and it wears on him, especially since Sunday always listens to Louis on the rare occasions he pulls the stepdad card.

This might be unfair of him, because his daughter’s very easygoing, but at moments of high chaos, it’s all he can think about.

To their credit, Mia and Amir quieted down once they realized he meant business. But then Amir left his phone in the car, and Liam had to hustle back across the windy tarmac to fetch it, doing breathing exercises the whole way to lessen the tension in his jaw.

Once he’s got the kids fully packed and chilled out in the jet, piled under the same big blanket on the couch in the lounge, he goes into the cockpit and finally gives them to OK to take off, then finds Louis in the bedroom.

Louis is curled up on the cream-white sheets of the bed with the lights dimmed, facing away from him and looking at his phone.

Liam kneels onto the mattress, touching his shoulder. “Hey…”

“Oh, you wanna be friendly with me now?” Louis mutters.

“C’mon…”

Louis shrugs his hand off.

Liam sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Can I rub your back?”

Louis makes a noise that sounds like assent, so Liam lays down behind him and starts digging his fingers into the spots that usually bother him.

”You give Agnes her bonus?” he says.

”Yeah,” Louis says. “And her gift.”

”Good.”

Louis is quiet for a while. “You know,” he finally says, “when I was in a shit mood this morning, it’s ‘cos I’ve got two people inside me kicking me and making me throw up and pee all the time and feel like shit.”

Frustration flares in Liam’s chest. “I’m allowed to have shit moods, too, Lou, I’m a person too!”

“Never said you weren’t!”

“Then what the hell?”

“Shh…”

“They’re watching _Hedgehog Island_ , they can’t hear.”

Louis goes silent some more as Liam rubs him.

”You were being really short with me,” he finally says. “I didn’t like it.”

”I’m sorry. You know this is like, the main thing that stresses me out, when I’m trying to get out of the house and no one’s ready.”

”I woke up feeling like shit! You’ve got no idea how exhausted I am!”

”I do, I know! I don’t even mean you, it was the kids who weren’t ready —“

”Right, _my_ kids.”

”Well...”

“I feel like your patience gets worn with my kids in that situation, when they’re not these well-behaved little angels like your daughter —“

“I don’t get — I don’t expect them to be perfect little angels! I just want them to listen to me, that’s all!”

“They do!” Louis exclaims. “You take it so personally when they take a bit longer to listen to you, you don’t pay attention to how they do the same thing to me! And to Zayn! Kids their age have a short attention span!”

Liam digs his thumb into a knot in Louis’ lower back. “The thing that gets me upset is that I just feel sometimes like they don’t think of me as enough of an authority figure.”

“They do!”

“Well, it doesn’t help when you undermine me with them!”

“Oh, Liam… You came off a little harsh, is all, I didn’t want them to think you were actually angry.”

“Alright, that’s fair, I just mean in general. Like, it’ll be one thing when it’s our kids, and they know I’m their dad. But you can’t give me shit in front of your kids like you do to Zayn. And you can’t say you don’t do that —“

“No, I know —“

“I just worry they get the wrong idea.”

“My kids love you,” Louis says wearily. “And they do respect you. I know it hasn’t always been easy, especially with Amir, and I appreciate how patient you’ve been about that. And it’s paid off! Alright? I just parent a bit differently than you. I didn’t grow up in a standard family like you, but my mum brought me up pretty fuckin’ good, didn’t she?” 

“Of course she did! I've never once had a go at your mum!”

“My own kids aren’t burning down buildings, are they?”

“No, just getting in fights,” Liam says without thinking, and immediately regrets it.

“That was one time!” Louis exclaims, and jerks away from his touch again. “Me and Zayn talked to her about it, she was punished! But you and I both know she’s young enough that shit like that is still fairly innocent!”

The plane begins moving under them as they roll down the tarmac.

“You know, Zayn can actually be a bit strict with them,” Louis says, his eyes flinty. “And I’m not soft, myself. They’ve got rules and boundaries. I just also try to understand that they’re kids, and they need patience more than anythin’. And they do happen to be a bit high-spirited, especially when you’re dealing with both of them. Fucking sorry.”

“I know, I know, I’m not starting up with you about any of that. I wouldn’t be having kids with you if I didn’t think you were a good dad, would I?”

“No, I s’pose not.”

Liam lets out a long exhale and presses his face into Louis’ bicep. They’re quiet as they take off from the runway. Liam looks out the window as their surroundings fade and turn into sky.

“Listen,” Liam says. “I love you, and I love your kids. Okay?”

Louis softens a bit. “Okay.”

“And I understand you feel shitty right now, and I’m sorry for making it worse.”

“I’m sorry it was so ‘ard to get out the door this morning.”

“It’s alright, it happens. It’s gonna happen even more when we’ve got five.”

Louis lets out a sort of despairing sigh. “Yeah. Yeah...“

Liam gnaws at his lip. “It’s just with your kids, I try to do everything exactly right,” he says. “Just like the books say. Just like the advice I get from people. And I don’t — there’s not, like, a progress bar tellin’ me —“

Louis wheezes with laughter. “Wot, like a stepdad video game?”

He laughs. “Yeah, I want stepdad trophies for the Playstation.”

Louis holds his hand up like he’s got an imaginary trophy in it.

“Gold trophy,” he says, “for yelling ‘Could you please quiet down back there, Jesus Christ!’ while putting sunglasses on, talking on the phone and driving a car at the same time.”

Liam buries his face in Louis’ armpit, groaning.

“Liam, it’s fine, honestly, I’ve yelled so much worse at them.”

“They’re good kids,” Liam murmurs. “I didn’t mean to imply anythin’ else. I know it’s harder when there’s two. And I know I got lucky with Sunday, besides.”

“You really, really did,” Louis says, and strokes his belly. “I can almost guarantee these two won’t be that easy, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Liam says, “‘cos with her, I live in fear she’s gonna have a horrible rebellious phase as soon as she’s a teenager, come home with pierced eyebrows and things.”

Louis laughs. Liam nudges him back onto his side and starts rubbing his back more thoroughly; Louis stretches out, moaning softly.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, “really good. I forget how much it hurts ‘til I get a rubdown.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, babe…”

“It’s alright.”

Liam lies down beside him again, spooning him and kissing him as he rubs his back. Louis keeps making little sounds low in his throat.

“Oi,” he says, when the noises cause Liam to develop a semi that pokes him in his thigh.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry.” He sounds gleeful about it. He’s always gleeful when he makes Liam hard, especially at inappropriate moments; at their last Parent-Teacher Night, Liam had to spend the first ten minutes standing at the back of the room with an info packet held delicately over his crotch because Louis thought it would be hilarious to give him the first half of an over-the-trousers handy while he was driving around looking for a parking spot.

“I’m only sorry ‘cos I can’t use it on you,” Liam says, biting his shoulder.

“I worry sometimes about us havin’ five kids,” Louis murmurs, like it’s a thought he’s been mulling and has just now turned into words. “If it’s gonna be hard on us as a couple.”

“It’s gonna make us very tired and very happy,” Liam says, digging an elbow into his sciatic nerve. “And very taken care of when we’re old. Or murdered over an inheritance dispute, one of the two.”

Louis laughs. “I just don’t like when you get in a strop with me.”

“I wasn’t stroppy, love, I promise, just annoyed…”

“Well,” Louis mutters, “maybe I’m just not used to you being genuinely annoyed with me, then.”

Liam kisses him on the back of his neck. “‘Cos I almost never am. I love you.”

He snorts. “That didn’t stop Zayn. And when ‘e got annoyed with me, he’d just walk out of the house. Go on tour, or go get bombed, or go cheat on me...”

“Oh, Tommo...”

“Just the more kids I’ve got, the scarier that thought is.”

“Ceci used to leave when we fought, too,” Liam says. “She’d go shopping, or go to her brother, or her friends, or whatever, not even tell me where she was. I do get what you mean. It’s ‘cos of the pressure, right? It’s what drove both of them away, ‘cos they couldn’t handle it. But what are you and me good at, if not handling pressure together? Pressure brought us together in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “That’s true.”

Liam kisses him some more.

“You talk good,” Louis says, reaching behind himself and patting Liam on the arm. “Put all that in our wedding vows, yeah?”

“Yeah, why not… What’re you gonna say in yours?”

Louis laughs. “‘Thanks for marrying me, Payno, I like your dick and I reckon I’m well used to how bad your feet smell by now, so let’s just make this official —‘“

Chuckling, Liam nips at his neck with his teeth.

“Talk about my bum in yours,” Louis says.

“Yeah, my vows’ll just be straight to your arse, no mention of you whatsoever.”

Louis cackles, then sits up in the bed. “Wanna go watch the film with them?”

“Do I want to watch _Hedgehog Island_ for literally the fiftieth time?” Liam says, and he sits up too. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

They head back into the lounge; the jet hits some turbulence as they do. Louis grabs the doorway, and Liam grabs Louis.

From the suede couch, the kids look up in curiosity, slipping their headphones off. The jet lurches again. Amir and Sunday both snuggle harder against Mia.

“Hi loves,” Louis says. “Mind if we join you?”

They all shake their heads. Liam crosses to the other couch, snatches up an extra throw blanket and brings it over. The five of them cuddle comfortably onto the couch, Liam and Louis acting as bookends.

 

SURREY, JANUARY 4, 2025 

“Hey,” Louis says softly from the doorway.

Liam looks up, blinking through the glare of the kitchen light to make out his shadowy figure. He’s pulled a sweatshirt of Liam’s on over his pajamas, and has his hands cupped to his belly. 

Christmas had been one long parade of everyone cooing over and grabbing at him in surprised joy at how much he was showing — first his own family, then Liam’s. Louis seemed embarrassed by all the attention, but pleased that he could delight everyone with the gospel of two brand-new people. “They’re really healthy,” he kept saying, “they look great,” and then would pull up the 3D scans on his phone. 

Liam has been feeling unreasonably guilty lately as the twins wear more on Louis. He knows it’s only going to get harder for him, and he knows Louis wanted fewer kids than they’ve got. They’ve only discussed it in passing, but often enough that Liam had figured (back when they were trying) that Louis was planning for just one for them.

Over the holiday, though, he started paying closer attention (more to Louis’ body language and expressions, less to his day-to-day gripes) and realized that despite all this, he really is as happy as Liam is. This past week, he’s been smiling all the time, always touching his middle, always talking about their sons-to-be with warm pride in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. And lately he nudges Liam awake in the middle of the night if they rouse him with their kicking, so he can make him feel. Liam thinks he was the happiest he's ever been at some early hour on Boxing Day, lying there dry-mouthed in a stuffy room in his parents' upstairs, his hand wedged up under Louis' HUF Legalization Tour tee so he could feel the gentle but insistent ripples under his skin. 

“Hey there,” Liam says to him. 

“Heard you get up before,” Louis says. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He nods and gestures at the album of Polaroids he’s been poring over. “Forgot I left this here…”

Louis comes over and pulls out the chair next to him, scraping it loudly on the marble floor. He awkwardly settles into it, leaning on the table, then tugs the album over to himself.

Liam is sort of nervy about Louis looking at these; it’s shots from his and Ceci’s wedding, photos of them with Sunday as a baby, photos of them drunk and laughing at a New Year’s Eve party they had here. Liam’s 2018 glasses are slipping sideways off his face. Ceci’s got her arms around his neck, beaming, her white teeth flashing and dark hair shining.

And dozens of Sunday; her a year old and riding a horse for the first time, perched in front of Ceci in the saddle, her sitting in a patch of buttercups, her running in the sand at the Hamptons.

Liam had woken up suddenly about an hour ago, had a slash, and then wandered downstairs. He’d found this photo album stuffed under the outdated Nest console in the sitting room. He reckons he shoved it there after looking through it during a divorce-fueled fit of pique; he spent a lot of time at the Surrey house when Ceci first left him, mostly so he could leave his daughter with his parents when he needed to soothe himself with a recording session in London or a long, tearful drive through the countryside.

Louis’ eyes rove over page after page like he's hungry for crumbs of Liam's past. “You’re not sitting here making yourself sad, are you?” he finally says, glancing up at him.

“Nah,” Liam says, smiling. “Just remembering stuff.”

Louis pauses flicking through the pages, then thumps his finger under one picture. Liam tilts his head to see; it’s him laughing with Niall on his twenty-fifth birthday.

“Oh, yeah…”

Louis’ mouth is flat, his brow drawn. “I feel like I don’t even know this Liam.”

“Naw, it’s all the same Liam.”

Louis stops on a picture of Liam settled on a leather couch, cradling newborn Sunday to his chest. A smile flits across his lips.

“She was precious,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Liam says, smiling too.

Louis’ hand goes to his middle again. The other keeps holding the photo album open, absent-mindedly rubbing the sheer plastic between his fingers. In the milky light, and with his face fuller than normal, he could be himself ten years ago.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Liam whispers, standing up and clearing his throat. “We’ve got our flight in the morning.”

The whole reason they drove down here was so the kids didn’t have to get up too early when they leave for the airport, to avoid the chaos of the week before. The house was eerie when they walked in earlier tonight — suspended in time, its years of abandonment evident by the dust on the art and photo frames.

He wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders as they head back up the stairs, and Louis leans into him. The halls are so unnaturally silent that they both stop outside the door to the kids’ bedroom and peek in.

They’re all fast asleep. Amir has climbed down from the top bunk and joined Mia in the bottom one; they’re sleeping back to back like little possums, moonlight shining through the window over their faces. Sunday is tucked up in her bed catty-corner from them, her ringlets spilling over her pillow.

Louis pulls the door shut very gently, and they go back into their room, collapsing into bed.

Louis snuggles up against Liam, pressing his back firmly to him, his shoulder blades to Liam’s chest. Liam roughly strokes his hair back from his forehead and presses his nose to the nape of his neck, inhaling.

“Happy birthday, old man,” he murmurs.

Louis laughs softly. “Was a week ago…”

“I know…” Liam pushes his hand up under Louis’ sweatshirt, settling it on the warm swell of his middle. “I just still can’t believe how old you are.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up.”

Liam laughs and kisses his neck. “Wanna fool around a little?”

Louis rolls over and looks up at him half-lidded. “Yeah, alright.”

“I wanna suck you off.”

Louis smiles, reaching up to run his fingers over Liam’s lips. “I like that idea.”

Liam pulls his shirt up and off him, as Louis wriggles out of his boxers. They snog for a little while, Liam rubbing his knee against Louis’ cock until he’s hard.

Louis let out soft little moans as Liam works on him, pushing his hands into Liam’s hair and then clenching his fingers until he’s tugging it painfully at the roots.

Liam presses gentle sucking kisses all over his neck, down to the soft skin of his shoulders and the crest of his clavicle, then his chest piece, then lower.

Louis groans softly when Liam starts massaging at his right nipple. “Careful… tender…”

Tender, that sounds promising. Liam lowers his head and starts sucking on the hard little nub of it, enjoying the luscious heat of Louis’ skin. He rubs the flat of his hand against his cock, and Louis arches up into him, pulling harder on his hair until his eyes water.

Suddenly, hot liquid is trickling into his mouth. It takes him a few moments before he realizes this, and then he jerks his head back.

Louis is still grinding against his thigh; his eyes flutter open, and he looks Liam over. “What?”

Liam wipes his lips and coughs, then, not wanting to say ‘I think you just lactated’, rolls Louis’ nipple in his finger.

“Ow, ow —“ Louis bats his hand away. “Fucking careful, oi!” He looks at his chest, finally noticing that drops of pearly liquid are dribbling down over his ribs. He makes a sharp movement of surprise. “What the fuck?”

“I think, um…”

Louis lifts a hand and gingerly rubs at his pec. “Did I just… in your  _mouth_?”

“I think so? Just a bit…”

“Jesus!”

Liam grabs a tissue off the bedside table and spits into it. “Didn’t the doctor say that could happen sometimes? ‘Cos it’s twins, you’ve got more hormones…”

“That doesn’t mean I was expecting to do it in your  _mouth,_  during  _sex_!”

Liam is still in a haze, still really randy for Louis, and any disgust he might normally feel is blunted and faint. “Didn’t taste bad,” he offers. “Sort of sweet…”

Louis shoots him a look of utter mortification and shimmies up on the bed.

“Come on, I’ve eaten your arse, this can’t be more gross than that —“

“Me  _nursin’_  you’s worse!”

Liam chuckles and lays down with him, situating his knee back between Louis’ legs and rolling his hips, thrusting himself against Louis’ cock. He takes his face in his hands and kisses him on the cheeks and nose.

“No,” Louis groans, ducking away from him, “I’m soft now, no… and stop  _kissing_  me…”

“Come on, baby,” Liam purrs, “flush it out, then, come in my mouth...”

Louis lets out a laugh that trails off into a sigh. “Fucking Christ, you absolute pervert…”

Liam pats him on the belly and slides down on the bed until he’s at Louis’ cock, then starts kissing and stroking it. “Come on…” He massages his balls. “I wanna make you come…”

“These babies are gonna be all fucked up,” Louis says, his breath hitching, his accent so strong that Liam can barely understand him. “They hear us, they just ‘eard all this shit. They’re gonna grow up and murder me in me sleep ‘cos I breastfed their dad but wouldn’t do it for them.”

Liam has to let Louis’ cock fall out of his mouth, he’s laughing so hard. He presses his forehead to the sheets, trying to get ahold of himself, but he’s punchy. “Jesus,” he finally chokes out, wiping at his eyes. “Will you just let me suck your dick?”

Louis grips Liam’s hair again and Liam wraps his mouth around his cock, pulling his foreskin back so he can flick his tongue over the salty slit of his tip.

Louis groans softly, shifting under him. Liam sucks him methodically, enjoying his little noises. It’s late enough, or early enough, that there are birds chirping in the trees outside.

“Liam,” Louis sighs.

Liam takes him deep, then, letting his throat muscles go lax, and Louis whines, grabbing white-knuckled at the sheets.

He’s half out of Liam’s mouth when he comes. Liam’s neck and Louis’ thighs end up speckled with come; Liam grabs another tissue to wipe him off, but Louis stops him and guides his hand to the underside of his belly, where there’s flutters and kicks.

Liam smiles in the darkness. “Hey there,” he whispers.

“Glad they dunno what we’re doing out here,” Louis whispers back.

Liam settles down next to him on the pillows and snogs him. This time, Louis is much more pliant, going soft at his touch and running his fingers through Liam’s hair.

Liam finally separates from him, and, his still lips wet with Louis’ spit and semen, presses a kiss to his nose.

Louis smiles sweetly at him. “You’re funny,” he says.

He kisses him again, on the forehead. “Funny how?”

“You don’t see me differently at all, do you?”

“From what?”

“From before I was pregnant.”

Liam wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer so he’s flush with Liam, his belly pressed between them. “You’re still you, though,” he murmurs, lips against his hairline. “You’re always you...”

He supposes it’s true, he doesn’t even see Louis, for the most part — he’s known him so long and so well, it’s like he’s been stripped of his quotidian physicality. And in those intervening years when they never saw each other, he was imbued with a mythical quality, becoming more memory than flesh. Louis is the sound of laughter, the feel of strong little hands around his wrists, flashing teeth, a bearded face nestled comfortably against his chest.

“I love you,” Louis says. He sounds like he’s drifting off, his voice post-orgasm mellow.

“Love you,” Liam murmurs back.

 

COLDWATER CANYON, JANUARY 5, 2025 

From: Carmela Ferguson <cferguson@sflpr.com>  
Date: Sat, Jan 5, 2025 at 3:59 PM  
Subject: EX/KID ALERT: Louis pregnancy with Liam Payne confirmed by People

To: Zayn <zm@zayn.com>  
Cc: Zayn Team <[zaynteam@sflpr.com](mailto:zaynteam@sflpr.com)>, Syena Rogers <[syena@zayn.com](mailto:syena@zayn.com)>, Kristoph Georges <[kgeorges@rca.com](mailto:kgeorges@rca.com)>

 

Hi Zayn!

Got a few alerts for you. We got a heads up this morning from Louis’ people that this story would be coming down, and it just did. I pasted the People copy below — it mentions you, as well as both your kids. It was followed up with a few more “creative” pieces from HollywoodLife and Us Weekly. I provided links in case you felt like perusing those (I know you generally prefer not to). Let me know if you'd like to issue a comment, request a retraction, or have any other concerns.

Hope you're enjoying your Saturday!

CF

 

**_Louis Tomlinson Confirms Pregnancy with Fiancé and Bandmate Liam Payne_ **

_It's official! Representatives for engaged One Direction stars Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne confirmed today that they're expecting._

_Rumors about the pregnancy have been swirling after the pair were snapped on Friday outside a Ralphs grocery store in Los Angeles, with Tomlinson sporting an obvious baby bump underneath his sweatshirt._

_A representative for the couple said in a short statement, “Liam and Louis are very happy to announce that they're welcoming an addition to their family, and request privacy in this special time.”_

_The pair began dating in 2021, and announced their engagement in early 2024. Both have children from previous relationships: Tomlinson shares daughter Mia, 8, and son Amir, 7, with ex-husband and ex-bandmate Zayn Malik. Payne shares daughter Sunday, 7, with ex-wife Cecilia Marino, an actress and Pantene Global Brand Ambassador._

_Multiple sources confirmed to PEOPLE back in December that Tomlinson was expecting, and we reported at the time that he is believed to be pregnant with twins that are due in early May._

_Tomlinson was first romantically linked to Payne in 2018, when his then-husband Malik released a scorched-earth revenge anthem that was widely reported to refer to infidelity between the pair. No official comment has been made about the track. The song was brought up to Malik in a December 2021 interview, a year after his divorce from Tomlinson and shortly after Payne and Tomlinson made their relationship public. He neither confirmed nor denied the claims._

_“I mean, people who know what it's about know what it's about,” Malik said to Mojo Magazine. “I don't feel the need to explain that s—t. I thought it was pretty clear.”_

_Tomlinson and Payne are expected to raise their children in Calabasas, where they've lived together since 2023._

_“They’re completely thrilled,” a source revealed to PEOPLE in December of the couple. “They weren't expecting twins, but Liam has wanted a big family, so he's over the moon, and Louis is just glowing. They have a really strong connection, and they're excited to enter this new phase of their lives together.”_

 

Zayn taps out of the story on his phone and opens iMessage, sending off a quick text to Louis.  _so i hear from people mag that ur over the moon and glowing_ , he says.

 _hahahahaha ! Right now ? try sweaty and jetlagged_ , Louis replies immediately.

_idk what the funnier bit in this article is.. the part where they quote me or the mention of how wots her name is a pantene brand ambassador. my solo career doesn't merit a mention but we have to know she's a pantene brand ambassador_

_I like how they can't mention that i'm with Liam without using the word infidelity, I think they teach you that in journalism school now,_  Louis says.

 _my 1 regret about that song is im still answering questions about it six years later lol,_ says Zayn. He wonders if this is possibly insensitive, then decides he doesn't care.

_I’m waiting for the day our precocious children bring it up to me_

_dw i'll lie and tell them i was just talking shit_

_Lie ?? you WERE talking shit,_ Louis responds, with an eyeroll emoji.

 _i remember signing a piece of paper that said we weren't married anymore and didnt have to still have fights about this_ , Zayn replies.

_that's fair I’m just in a lousy mood. my back’s killing me and payno left me_

_left you ?_

_Lol not permanently . He went down to CR to do some paperwork , but he texted me he keeps running into people and has to catch up with them bc he's been out so much lately. btw did I tell you I ran into Simon last month ? He asked about you_

_ran into him? don't you see him all the time?_

_not since I’ve been knocked up again, actually. So i got the whole ‘You’re pregnant ?Again ?’ routine_

_what, ur not allowed to be pregnant?_ Zayn replies, annoyed on his behalf.

_I think he’s ticked off bc it happened right after I created the company . Prob worried I won’t go thru with it now_

_he should know better_

_Remember this is the same guy who told me to my face I’d ruined my life after I decided to keep Mia,_ Louis says.  _Think he thinks every baby brings me closer to giving up on my career_

_hes a fuckhead. idk what you still put up with him for_

_He's done a lot for me. and I'm a big boy, I can stand putting up with a bit of shit. I think he just wants me to be his mini me and gets miffed when I'm not_

_no shit, simon wants u to be his mini me??????_

_Yeah yeah yeah,_ Louis says.

_:oooo_

_Shut it you knob_

_what did he ask about me?_ Zayn says.

_just like where you are, what's up with you . He always talks about you like you're overdosed in a ditch somewhere_

_whatd you say?_

_I said you were in prison,_ Louis says.  _No obvs I told him you're doing well. He already knows that , he asks just to tweak me_

 _idk what i ever did to him_ , Zayn says.

_besides break up his cash cow and rob me his mini me of my virtue ? Don’t take it too hard, he doesn’t like Liam much anymore either_

Zayn snorts.

 _so what trouble are the kids getting into ?_ Louis adds.

Zayn glances across the room at Amir, who's curled up in an easy chair, reading.  _our sons reading a book about ancient egypt and Yasmeen is at footie practice_

_Good. Does she suspect about her surprise party ?_

_i think we’re good. i lied to her a couple times and she seems to be buying it_

_Perfect_ , Louis says, with a smiling devil emoji.

 

CALABASAS, JANUARY 7, 2025

Mia’s ninth birthday party culminated in a massive silly string fight in the back garden between her and all of her pals. (“This is what happens when I let you in on the planning,” Zayn said to Louis as he ducked for cover, and Louis laughed happily, shaking up his own can to attack Liam with.) The girls all rush into the basement sleepover portion of the evening without any consideration for the silly string rapidly drying in her hair, so they wake up the next day horrified to find they’ve all got messes of stiff tangles.

Louis and Liam see each of their guests off to their parents, explaining from personal experience how best to rinse it out (Liam is a strong proponent of the baking soda method, Louis prefers vinegar) and then they take Mia upstairs to sit her over the sink, salon-style.

“Hey,” she says, as Louis gently works through a particularly tough knot, Liam hovering over them with the can of baking soda. “What are you gonna name the babies?”

“Good question,” Louis says. “We think Max for one, and Patrick for the other, but we aren’t dead set on it until we meet them.”

“I had some other ideas,” Liam says.

Louis grins. “Yeah, they were a bit out there.”

“They were nice, noble names! Lordly names!”

“Charteris? St. John? Forbes?  _Routledge_?”

“Well,” Liam mutters, “it was just for one of them. You already got to pick Max.”

Louis smooths a hand over his belly. “Which is a perfectly noble name. And you did pick Patrick.”

“Only after you vetoed Forbes.”

“‘Cos Forbes is a magazine, not our  _baby_.” Louis accidentally splashes some water in Mia’s eyes; she squeezes them shut.

“Sorry, love,” Louis says, picking up a washcloth and dabbing at her face. He readjusts the towel he put around her neck so her shirt doesn’t get wet. “Almost done here. Just this one big tangle left.”

She opens them, squinting warily. “You keep saying that!”

“I know, but it’s  _big_ , it’s taking me ages. I’m trying not to tear your hair out, here.”

“Hugh was a normal name,” Liam says. He sounds put out, but in that youngest-child way where Louis can tell he doesn’t actually mean it, he just wants to have a whinge for the sake of having one.

“Bit more baking soda,” Louis says, and Liam leans over him, sprinkling it onto the teeth of the comb. “Hugh is old. There’s no young Hughs around.”

“Hugh Grant is young!"

“He isn’t, for God’s sake, he’s like seventy.”

“He is not!”

“Look it up, Payno. Sit up for me, Mims?”

Mia complies, and Louis starts combing her hair out.

“I sort of like the B names,” Liam says. “Blair? Max and Blair?”

Louis grimaces. “What about a regular one? Max and Ben? Max and Brian?”

“I’m just now realizing, your dad’s sort of boring,” Liam stage whispers to Mia, who giggles.

Louis reaches behind himself and gently slaps Liam on the thigh, then sets the comb on the counter, studying Mia. “You’re good to go, kiddo.”

Mia tosses the towel aside and races off, obviously happy to be freed from comb prison. Liam makes eye contact with Louis in the mirror over the sink, then comes up behind him, resting his chin on his shoulder and slipping his hands over Louis’ middle.

Louis smiles and lays his hands over Liam’s. “You like Max and Patrick, don’t you?”

“I do, actually,” Liam says. “They go good together.”

“I thought so.”

Liam kisses him on the cheek.

 

CALABASAS, JANUARY 22, 2025

Niall arrives way before Harry does to their annual mandatory January band meeting, which they use to plan their next year’s worth of work. They’ve had it for the last three years in a suite at the Beverly Wilshire on RCA’s dime, but today they're having it at Louis and Liam’s house, because Louis is very cranky and informed Liam yesterday that he's “not goin’ all the way the fuck downtown just to fuckin’ sit in some posh fuckin’ hotel just to fuckin’ plan band shit,” to which Liam had nodded frantically.

Niall lets himself in with his key and shouts, “Oi oi.” Louis and Liam head from the kitchen into the foyer, calling back to him similarly.

“Where's the kids?” Niall says, heading over to the coat closet to hang up his jacket.

“Back garden,” Liam says. “We got them this massive playhouse for Christmas, it's got, like, nineteen rooms. So they've got a few of their neighbor mates over. I think they’re staging a pretend dinner party, or open house, or something.”

Niall laughs. “That’s advanced of them.”

“I think Sunday’s the brains behind that,” Louis says. “She’s the most imaginative.”

Liam glances over at him, smiling in appreciation. Niall turns back to them, then, and looks Louis up and down, blinking.

“Don't say it,” Louis says furiously. “I'll break your fookin’ arm.”

“He's serious,” Liam warns.

“How far along are you?” Niall says. “Was it… just five months, right?”

“With  _twins_ , Neil! Twins!”

“I know, I know!”

“And it's nearly six months, actually!”

Niall grimaces. “Can we pretend I didn't say anythin’?”

“Yes we can,” Liam says quickly. “D’you want to go out and come back in again and tell Tommo how thin he looks?”

“I’d love to,” Niall says cheerfully.

Louis gives Niall the “I'm watching you” fingers. There’s a jingling behind them as Bo trots up, pushing his nose into Niall’s hand.

“Hey buddy,” Niall says, stroking his head. He idly reaches up with his other hand to pat Louis on the middle, but before his hand can make landfall, Bo lets out a very loud alarm bark.

Niall starts. “Jesus.”

“No!” Louis says sternly to Bo, who pins his ears and pretends to be apologetic. He smooths his hands over the baby bump. “Sorry. He’s always been protective of me, I dunno why.”

“Couldn’t care less about me, though,” Liam says, laughing. “So hopefully Louis is in town if we ever get robbed.”

“You oughta like me,” Niall says to Bo. “You’re an Irish setter, I’m Irish.”

Bo, unimpressed, trots away.

“Where’s Harold?” Louis asks Niall.

He shrugs, and they start migrating toward the sitting room. “I got the same text you all did, the ‘I’m on my way’ text.”

“Yeah, did that feel a bit brisk to anyone else?” says Liam.

“Reckon he's still peeved with me,” Louis says.

Niall settles down in a big leather recliner, popping the feet up. Liam takes a seat on the sectional, and Louis settles into the corner, stretching his legs across Liam’s lap. It’s the only way he can get comfortable on the sofa anymore.

“Peeved?” Niall says, glancing over at them as he flicks the TV on.

“He got stroppy with me at our Christmas party,” Louis says. “I brought up Zayn. I shouldn't’ve, but…”

He feels something in his sinuses and sniffs; blood trickles out of his nostril and over his lip.

“Oh, no, Tommo,” Liam says, digging in his pocket for a tissue. “Again?”

“I know,” Louis mutters, taking it and stuffing two pieces into his nose. “I'm so leaky.”

Niall glances over at them and mutes the golf game he's got on. “Is your  _nose_  bleedin’?”

“That’s nothin’,” he says, all nasally. “Me gums were bleedin’ this morning.”

Liam laughs. “I wake up and go in the bathroom, and he’s just spitting blood in the sink like Charles Bronson.”

Niall goggles at this. “Is that normal?”

“Yeah, that and about ten thousand other ‘orrible things are completely normal.”

Liam squeezes one of Louis’ sock feet. Niall gets up and fetches a beer from the mini fridge in the entertainment center.

“What'd you say to Harry about Zayn?” he says, using his shirt to twist the top of his beer off.

“Not much… just, like, if he was worried it’d be a problem for me, he shouldn't be. And he had a proper fit about it, like, saying he didn't give a fuck what I thought and he's got bigger things to worry about. Which, fair, but he didn't need to get nasty about it.”

“Ah, Lou,” Niall says with a sigh. “It's hard for him right now, bein’ around you, you realize?”

“I know, I know, we talked about that. Hey, put the Man U game on?”

Niall lifts the remote and switches the TV to BBC Sport.

“Well, we can tone down the lovey dovey while he's here,” Liam suggests. “Tommo, maybe you and I can stage an argument? I'll sit across the room from you and be all narky. And you should keep going on with that bit about how horrible being pregnant is. And I'll go, You're suffocating me! And storm out of the room, or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cos that'll make him feel better,” Niall says, laughing.

“I think we're being a bit condescending, here,” Louis says. “I mean, it's Harold. The kid, like, lived in a submarine for eight months, let's give him some credit for mental toughness.”

“He did say he had some news,” Niall says. “I hope it's that he left that fuckin’ husband o’ his. Ooh! Look at Pianicini go!”

They all turn to the TV and watch as he streaks upfield. The drive is brutally interrupted by a slide tackle from Liverpool that sends Pianicini spinning like a top.

“Oh, what a fucking joke,” Louis complains. “That's a card! Nothing? No foul?”

“Is it still zip zip? Jesus,” Niall says.

“I didn't want to say anything, but I caught the first ten minutes of this and it was already awful,” Liam says. “Like watching paint dry, with additional shit calls.”

“Ah, that's what beer’s for,” Niall says, rubbing his hands together. “You all got snacks?”

The doorbell rings, then. Liam slides out from under Louis’ legs. “Should be some in the mini fridge, Niall,” he says over his shoulder as he heads into the hall.

Niall goes over and squats in front of it, fetching himself another beer. “Hey hey, cheese,” he says.

“Oi, bring me that salami,” Louis says.

“The entire salami?”

“Did I stutter?”

Niall laughs and tosses it to him.

Liam returns with Harry in tow. Harry lingers in the doorway, pushing his sleeves up, then leans against it. He cuts a tall, slim figure, like a water reed jutting out of a pond. “Hi there.”

“Hey,” Louis and Niall chorus.

Harry jerks his chin in the direction of the the TV. “You're actually watching this trainwreck?”

“Shh, shh,” Niall says. “It could still get good.”

“In the third quarter?” Liam says with a grin, settling back next to Louis, who immediately puts his legs back over his lap so he can lay back against a big squishy pillow he's just found.

Niall flaps his hand without looking away from the TV. “I can dream.”

Harry glances at Louis for the first time. “Wow,” he says. “You're  _really_  pregnant.”

“Watch out sweet-talking me like that, Harold, I might fall in love,” Louis says sarcastically.

Harry laughs. “Can I feel?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He comes over and settles on the other side of Louis, laying one of his hands over his middle; Louis moves it slightly over for him so it's resting where he last felt movement.

Harry glances up at him, looking concerned. “Is your nose bleeding?”

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, sniffing.

“Ooh, ooh,” Harry says, looking down again. “I felt something…” There’s a sort of wistful look on his face.

Liam skooches his hand under Harry’s slightly. “Wait, I don't,” he says, disappointedly.

“Payno, you feel them all day long,” Louis says, laughing. “I'm like a petting zoo for you and the kids, anymore.”

Niall comes over and kneels next to the couch, trying to shove his hand between both of theirs. Louis glares at him.

“I felt left out!” he exclaims.

“Now I really,  _seriously_  feel like a petting zoo.”

“Oh!” Liam exclaims, moving his hand slightly lower. “Right here, boys.”

“Tommo, sit up a bit?” Niall says.

Harry shakes his head. “No, if anything he needs to slide lower.”

“Alright,” Louis barks, “that's it, get off —”

They all obediently retreat. Louis struggles to get back into the somewhat comfortable position he had before, huffing with annoyance, then says, “Liam, I didn't mean you.”

Liam obligingly slides back under his legs.

“So, as far as the band goes,” Harry says, fetching a beer from the fridge and sitting a few feet down the couch like he's now afraid of Louis. “Probably not going to be getting up to much this year either, yeah?”

“Oh, that's no fuckin’ foul!” Niall shouts at the TV, settling back into the recliner. A Liverpool player has flung himself spectacularly to the ground after a hit, resulting in a penalty kick for them.

“Diver,” Liam scoffs.

“Who's reffing this one?” says Louis. “Someone's blind nan?”

“Someone's  _dead_  nan?” Liam adds.

“Band,” Harry says loudly, cracking open his beer.

Niall mutes the game. “Sorry. Yeah, band.”

Louis lets out a soft groan, and they all look at him.

“Getting kicked,” he says, rubbing at a spot below his ribs. “Ignore me.”

“It's the shit football,” Niall says. “They're having their own match in there, tryin’ to show ‘em how it's done.”

“Well, they can fuck off. I lied, I don't want football sons, I want lazy-arse sons that never do anything and don't kick me in my bladder every ten minutes.”

“So,” Liam says, running his hand absentmindedly up and down Louis’ thigh. “I think we were all tapped out for a while after album seven and the mini-tour, but —” He gestures to Louis. “We've been writing a bit again, the two of us. And some of it’s just for us, but a good bit of it’s for the band. I figure, y'know, with Niall getting married and us being pregnant — sorry, Tommo, I know you hate that. With _Louis_ being pregnant, we’re definitely not touring for a while, but we could start trying to have a full record in the can by the beginning of next year? Maybe aim for a Q2 release in 2026? ‘Cos from what I'm hearing, there's not exactly gonna be loads of competition.”

“What about Biebs?” Niall says. “I thought he said he was working on something for next year.”

“He's actually put that on hold,” Liam says. “He is, uh... going to seminary school.”

Harry clears his throat. “Sorry, he's what?”

Liam flaps his hand. “I'll get into it later. Anyway, how do we feel?”

“I feel good,” Harry says. “I'm taking a bit of a break from writing for me, so. Maybe writing for the band would be easier. And my film’s been pushed back to the summer, so I'll be around here for writing sessions and things.”

“Cool, cool,” Liam says.

“I'm good with whatever,” Niall says cheerfully. “And I've got music for us, as well. Actually, this one thing, I'm thinking, like, gated reverb?”

“Oooh,” Harry says with interest.

“It's really rough right now,” he says, and pops a piece of cheese in his mouth. “I workshopped it with Jack a bit, back in October. I'm thinking Harry comes in big at t’ beginning, big drums, then the chorus is mostly me and Louis, and I want falsetto Liam.” He points at him, and Liam points back.

”Me and Louis have one that, um.” Liam turns to Louis. “Who was interested in punching it up with us? I want to say Mike?”

”Julian.”

”Really? Why’d I think it was Mike?”

”I dunno,” Louis says, amused. “You keep doing that, you did it the other day on the phone, too.”

Liam squints. “‘Cos I could’ve sworn you said Mike.”

“No, babe, it was Julian. I had a whole conversation with him about it.”

“Shit, you’re right. What’s my deal?”

”I dunno, you’ve got fuckin’ Alzheimer’s,” Louis says, patting him on the chest. Liam laughs. 

“By the way,” Harry says, and they turn to him. He has a subdued look, and he keeps picking at his thumbnail. “I've sort of got some news...”

“Yeah?” Louis says.

Harry nods, looking down at his hands. “I left my husband,” he says. “I served him papers a few days ago.”

“Oh, shit,” Liam says, reaching over and laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Really buried the lede on us, there,” Louis says, and Harry smiles wryly.

“You doing alright?” Liam asks him.

He nods. Now that Louis is really looking at him, he notices he’s pale, and not in his usual alabaster way — more in a drained and peaked way. His face is a bit thinner than normal, too.

“What'd he say?” Niall says.

“I don't actually know,” Harry says. “We went to Paris after Christmas, and I… sort of arranged to have them messengered to him and then…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I might’ve ran away in the middle of the night, left the country and blocked all his numbers… And told my family and my friends to not let him know where I was.”

“Holy shit,” Liam says in that matter-of-fact way of his.

“You need anythin’ from us?” Niall says. “Need to stay with me, or something?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m good, I've got my full security team, and I'm at a hotel here, under an alias.”

“Which alias?” Louis asks.

Harry’s lips quirk up. “Sid Stanwyck.”

“Oh, my personal favorite.”

“Thought you'd appreciate that.”

“I'm really, really sorry, Haz.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m actually doing alright,” he says. “I mean, it's been awful, but, uh, I reckon I feel sort of relieved?”

“‘Course you do,” Niall says with venom, “‘cos he was a controlling blowhard shithead gobshite who couldn't tie his shoes without a a butler, an’ he was never good enough for you, either.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle. “Been holding that one in long?”

“For a bit,” he says, taking a sip of his beer.

“You know, I always thought you  _liked_  him.”

“Yeah, well, I'm a good faker,” Niall says.

“Hey,” Liam exclaims. “We've all been divorced now, haven't we? ‘Cept Niall.”

“Broke off an engagement, doesn't that count?”

“No,” they all chorus at him.

“Great,” he grumbles. “Now this is just one more thing you've all got that I don't. Like tattoos, and fuckin’ each other.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Harry says. “Doesn't feel great.”

Liam’s hand hasn't yet left his shoulder, and he squeezes him again. The two of them exchange a look that seems significant.

“Remember what you said to me?” Liam says.

“Uh,” Harry says, and laughs. “‘It's not your fault, you did your best, let's watch Love Actually and eat ice cream’?”

“Exactly. I mean, the first bit, anyway.”

Louis’ chest gets tight for irrational reasons. He always feels both left out and tremendously guilty when he's reminded of how Liam had five entire years without him, five years where they made nothing but small talk, and this is further complicated by his relationship with Harry and the churning, viscous soup of baby hormones.

Before Harry can say anything else, down the hall, the front door opens and shuts. Louis and Liam look at each other — not a lot of people have keys to their place.

Of course, who could it be but Zayn, the crown prince of bad timing? They hear him call out, “Lou-eh,” and Harry instantly full-body stiffens like he's been turned from a real boy back into Pinocchio.

“In here,” Louis shouts back.

Zayn wanders in, looking scruffy-handsome in an oxblood motorcycle jacket. He's looking at his phone, and when he glances up, his entire face falls in unpleasant surprise.

“Shit,” he says.

“Hi,” Louis says mildly.

His eyes dart around without landing on anyone. “Band meeting?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” says Niall, turning in the recliner to point at him and squint. “Didn’t you quit?”

Zayn glances down at him, then lets out a fake little laugh that Niall joins in on.

“What's up,” he says, “where are the kids? Am I not on time?”

“You're perfectly on time,” Louis says in amusement, “but it's Wednesday.”

“No, you're fuckin’ joking,” he says, pulling his phone back out. “Fuck. I drove all the way out here on a Wednesday?”

Harry gets to his feet. They all look at him.

“Can we talk in private?” he says to Zayn, awkwardly shifting, like he isn't quite sure how to stand.

“Nah, look, like…” Zayn has his darty-eyed ‘how the fuck do I escape’ look on. “You’re obviously in the middle of things here, I don't want to interrupt…”

“You're not interrupting,” Louis says with a smile. “We weren’t getting much done.”

Zayn shoots him a look.

“This is really sort of humiliating,” Harry says, his voice even lower than normal, “but you won't take my calls, and I  _need_  to talk to you, so. Please.”

“You two ought t’ talk,” Niall says.

Zayn glares so hard at the back of Niall’s head, Louis half expects Niall to fall over dead of it. “Fine,” he snaps, without looking at Harry. “I'll be in the back garden.”

“Wait,” Liam says, “the kids are out back.”

Zayn spreads his arms in annoyance. “Where, then?”

“You can go talk in the kitchen, maybe?” Louis says. “And put in a Keurig for me? Decaf?”

“Fine,” Zayn snaps again, then heads off down the hall.

Harry wobbles on his coltish legs, looking stricken. “I’ve just realized I’ve got no idea what to say to him.”

“Tell him you got divorced, for starters,” Louis says.

Niall puts the game back on. They all look at him incredulously.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, muting it quickly.

“Alright.” Harry exhales, does a sort of funny full-body wriggle, then heads out the doorway.

“Still zip zip?” Liam says, glancing up at the TV.

“Put rugby on,” Louis suggests. “I wanna see some blood. The babies want blood.”

 

*

 

In the kitchen, Harry finds Zayn sitting at the island, looking at his phone again. He doesn't flinch or even react when Harry walks in. It's almost impressive how every muscle in his body is united in chilly disinterest.

“Hi,” Harry says. It's hell to even be around him. He’s full of such an intense yearning that his skin feels electrified; he thinks if Zayn touched him right now, he’d be thrown back physically by the voltage. His palms are slick with sweat.

Zayn sets his phone down with a hard  _clack_  on the marble. “What?”

“I want to talk,” Harry says.

“And say what?”

“A lot of things, actually. And I sort of just want you to sit there and be patient and hear them, ‘cos I talk a bit slow.”

Zayn turns to him, finally, and a flicker of a smile briefly graces his face. Harry relaxes by a tiny, tiny amount. The amount he relaxes could probably be measured in parts per million.

“First off, I left my husband,” he says.

Zayn isn't easy to read, but his face does shift. His eyes, which were cold and shuttered, begin to soften. Harry forgot how long his eyelashes are.

He finds he has a lump in his throat, then, and fixes his gaze at the middle of Zayn’s chest so he can gather himself.

“Like, divorced him?” Zayn says, his voice husky.

“Yeah. I served him papers.”

“Didn't you get your license in the U.K.? I thought you said you’d have to be separated for a while, first.”

“I cited unreasonable behavior,” Harry says with difficulty, and drags in a breath. “And his infidelity, and my own. We had a really extensive prenup, and my best lawyers are on it... It should be over with fast.”

The only thing he asked for was the beachside cottage. He doubts Angelos will give it to him, but he wanted to ask.

“Alright,” Zayn says.

There's a stretch of silence, then. They’re both very still. The air is so thick, it’s reminds him of backstage — right before you step out, when the anticipation is so heightened, like pulling a rubber band back and back and back —

“So, what,” Zayn says, and finally really looks at him. Harry meets his gaze. The room around them fuzzes out; all he can see are Zayn’s eyes, in perfect focus. “Like, that’s it, then. You're just divorced, like it's nothing.”

“It's not nothing,” Harry snaps. “It was really fucking hard for me to do that... I had to be as lonely and miserable as I've ever been in my life to go and do that.”

“So I was your escape hatch,” Zayn says, getting up, his body language hard. He sounds hurt. “I was the lever you pulled to get out of it.”

“No,” Harry says, loudly. “That isn't it at all.”

“I am so fuckin’ sick of you jerking me around!” he shouts. “Fifteen fuckin’ years, now! I'm grown, I'm an adult!”

“I  _know_ ,” Harry screams, “will you  _listen_  to me, I was scared of us, I was scared! You were right! I'm  _sorry_!”

He has Zayn’s attention, then. They both exhale slowly.

“I know I jerked you around, and I acted crazy, and I was too afraid to ask you for what I wanted,” he says, and furiously swipes a few errant tears from his eyes, which have grown very hot. “I did want you to fight for me. But I was afraid to say it ‘cos — I dunno. I want to do everythin’ myself. I want to be, like, this self-contained person, I want to not need anybody by my side, but the more I try to pretend that’s how I am, the faker it feels. I wanted you to fight for me, but I was afraid of how much you meant to me, I pushed you away, and I fought for myself. And now I want to fight for you, alright? I want to fight for us. I want you. So. If you still want me…”

Zayn makes a soft noise low in his chest. He steps close to Harry and takes his jaw in his soft, calloused hands, stares at him for a second with a soulful look that knocks Harry’s breath loose from his chest, then snogs him passionately.

Harry moans against his mouth and fists his hands in his sleek hair. His heart is pounding — it feels hot and swollen in his chest, like his ribs have suddenly become too small. They stumble around, finally landing hard against the side of the island, and they rub their bodies desperately together.

“That was easier than I thought it’d be,” Harry says with a breathy laugh.

“I really missed you,” Zayn says raggedly.

“Me too…”

“I grafitti’d my whole tennis court…”

“I — you  _what_?”

“I just ‘ad to do something…”

Harry laughs again. They nuzzle each other, breathing hard. He kisses Zayn’s cheekbones and his nose, then down his jaw and neck with possessive brushes of his lips and gentle bites. He’s in numb shock at realizing that he almost threw this away; he wants to mark every inch of Zayn as his.

“We, um,” Zayn murmurs. His voice sounds wonderful right now. “Like. We ought to talk, for real.”

“Right.”

“And probably not in my ex-husband’s kitchen.”

“Oh,” Harry says, pulling back. “Shit. Right. We've got the band meeting.”

“ _You've_  got a band meeting.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yeah.” Zayn studies him. “You want to, like… come over to my place, have dinner?”

“Sure,” Harry says.

“I’ve got the kids startin’ tomorrow, so…”

“Well, next week would be alright, then.”

“Right, yeah.”

They stare at each other.

“Wait, no, sorry,” Harry says. “What’m I saying? Obviously I want to come over tonight.”

Zayn exhales. “God, yeah, please do.”

“The aloof thing’s just, like, a force of habit.”

“Same here.”

“But, ah. Reckon I already told you I love you, so…” He shrugs helplessly.

Zayn’s eyes soften again. “Right,” he says. “Yeah, you did.”

 

*

 

“Wait, which team are we rooting for?” Niall says, cracking open another beer.

“I think the red guys,” Liam says.

“This is the slowest game of rugby I've ever seen,” Louis says.

“Americans play it different,” Niall says. “I forget how.”

“Do they have a professional league, here?” Liam says. He's stuffed a pillow next to Louis’ hips so he can lean sideways on it, and he's got one arm casually slung over his middle like it's an airplane armrest, rubbing him.

“Nah, this is uni,” Louis says.

“No, I know, but does it go beyond the uni level? I can't remember.”

“Probably not,” Niall says. “Would they only be runnin’ uni matches on ESPN4 at half two in the afternoon if it did?”

“I'm looking this up,” Liam says, digging his phone out.

Harry appears in the doorway. They turn to him; Niall mutes the TV again.

Zayn appears behind him, keeping an awkward foot or so of distance between them. They both have mussed hair, flushed lips, and glazed looks in their eyes. And they're smiling.

Louis feels a bitter stab of loss, looking at them. He thought he’d gotten well used to the idea, by now, but seeing them together like this is brand-new.

“So,” Harry says. “Um. Hey.”

“Hey,” the three of them chorus.

“Work things out?” Niall asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says, in a sort of stilted manner.

“Where's me coffee?” Louis chirps from the couch.

Zayn and Harry stare at him.

“Did you forget?”

“Louis, for fuck’s sakes,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I'm gonna go say hey to the kids real quick, and then I'll get out of you lot’s way.”

“Don't you wanna have them come in and meet their new stepmum?” Louis says cheekily. He doesn't really mean to, it just comes out of him.

All the blood drains from Harry’s face, and Zayn’s mouth goes flat.

“I was joking,” he adds. “You know how I like a joke?”

“We’re familiar,” Zayn says drily.

“Don't start,” Harry begs them. “Please. This is already so awkward.”

“Oh, lighten up, you two,” Louis says. “How’re we gonna get used to this if you act so weird about it?”

Niall chuckles.

“Maybe give us more than fifty seconds practice at it,” Zayn suggests.

“Alright, fair.” One of the babies kicks, and Louis shifts on the couch, wincing. “So what is ‘this’, then?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, folding his arms. “We haven't really talked yet.”

“Well,” Niall says, grinning, “Let me be the first t’ congratulate you two on your, uh, nothin’.”

“Alright, on that note, I'm going,” Zayn says.

“Aww, let us tease ya,” Niall complains.

“Bye, boys. Harry… I'll text you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says. “Sounds good.”

Zayn walks off, and Harry comes in and sits cross-legged on the floor beside Niall’s chair.

“Hey,” Liam stage whispers. “I'm happy for you.”

Harry glances up at him, the dreamy smile still plastered to his face. “Thanks, man.”

“Help me up?” Louis says to Liam.

“I got you…” Liam slips off the couch and handily levers him to his feet. Louis gives him a kiss, then heads off to the foyer. As he walks out, he hears Niall asking, “Ay, Payno, you ever find out what's up with rugby?”

It takes Zayn a while to return from the back garden. Louis rubs his aching lower back against the stair banister as he waits.

He finally comes around the corner, digging in his breast pocket for his cigarettes.

“Hey,” Louis says.

Zayn glances up at him. “Hey. You shouldn't be on your feet…”

“I wanted to talk to you right quick.”

“What's up?”

“Everything good?”

Zayn considers it and shrugs. “I think so. I mean, we've still got a lot of shit to work out, but… Yeah.”

“Good,” Louis says, smiling.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling back.

“So… I was right, then, wasn't I?”

Zayn comes over to him, then, and wraps him up in a hug. “You were right,” he murmurs in his ear.

Louis grips the back of his jacket and buries his face in Zayn's shoulder. “I'm happy for you,” he says in a small voice.

Zayn kisses him on the cheekbone. His beard is short and scratchy. “I know what you're feelin’ right now.”

“I know you do…”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“Hey, take care of him, alright?” Louis murmurs. “And let him take care of you?”

“I will.” Zayn pulls back and cups a hand very lightly to the roundness of his middle, rumpling the thin white fabric of his t-shirt. His hand lingers for a moment, then he pats him. “Go sit down, get off your feet, will you?”

Louis nods, teary-eyed. “I’m not crying, by the way,” he says. “It’s just these fuckin’ hormones.”

Zayn laughs. “Yeah, alright.” He pulls a cigarette out of he pack in his pocket, fiddles with it, then sticks it behind his ear. “This ever strike you as weird?” he says. “This entire thing… I mean, we’re just some blokes who lost a talent show together.”

Louis lets out a hiccupy laugh. “Yeah. Reckon we are.”

“Anyway… I'll let you get back to your meeting.”

“Alrighty.”

Zayn smiles at him one last time before he's slipping out the door, a phantom in dark leather. Louis goes to the doorway and watches him walk to his car in the bright winter sunshine, watches his car go around the driveway and then idle as the gate slowly opens. And then he's down the road, over the hill, disappearing out of sight.

 

*

 

Harry heads out from Liam and Louis’ house a half hour or so before sundown, leaving behind Niall, who decided he wants to stay for dinner and is now sitting on the floor of the den with the kids, teaching them how to play Irish switch. Louis has passed out on the couch, and Harry whispers goodbye to him — he jerks awake, yawns hugely and sleepily tries to dap Harry up, but just ends up almost pulling his watch off his wrist.

Niall pops to his feet and insists on giving him a very tight, long hug that gets Harry a bit emotional. He whispers to him, “Lemme know if you want to come up to Mullingar, go fishing, get away from everything,” and Harry nods hard, patting him on the back.

“Bye Uncle Harry!” the kids all chorus. He waves to them, wondering idly how they'd see him if he was no longer Uncle Harry, but instead Zayn’s boyfriend.

Liam walks him to the door. They talk about music a bit in the hall; Harry admits to him that he actually hasn't been able to write anything lately that isn't crashingly depressing.

“It's alright to be depressing,” Liam counters.

“Yeah, but it's like, straight-up maudlin, it's not even good.” Harry shrugs.

“Try accessing the anger,” Liam says, “instead of the sadness.”

“That’s a good thought... I just wonder if I even can. I feel blunted all over. I dunno.”

“I get that,” Liam says. “I've been stalled, myself. I mean, there's a lot going on, around here…” He gestures as they step into the foyer.

Harry grins at him. “Louis been a bit high-maintenance?”

“Naww,” Liam says with a little smile, which Harry takes to mean yes. “I mean, he doesn't love being pregnant to start with, so, this is tough on him.”

“Yeah, no, I get it. But you two seem really happy, besides.”

“We are,” Liam says, beaming, his dark eyes twinkling. “Absolutely.”

Harry hesitates before he says, “So how much is the Zayn thing gonna bother him?”

Liam exhales slowly and tilts his head.

“Things’ve been tense between us…”

“I think they already were, mate.”

“Alright, more tense than normal,” Harry admits. “And some of that's my fault.”

“He’ll be okay. Don't worry about him.”

“I don't want awkwardness ‘cos of me.”

“It’s not that awkward, I swear.”

“Alright…”

Liam smiles. “Go talk to Zayn, yeah?”

“I will… Hey,” he says, and wraps Liam up in a hug. “Thanks, mate.”

Liam pats him on the back. “No worries… You know, you are  _so_  tall. Seriously, when’d you get this tall?”

“About ten years ago.”

“No, you've kept getting taller, I swear.”

“Maybe you're shrinking?”

“Probably I am. That's what parenting does to you, it compresses your spine.”

Harry slips out of his arms and grins at him. “Alright, I'm off.”

“Get outta here,” Liam says, pulling the door open and aiming a kick at his arse.

Harry laughs and swans away flirtily down the driveway, winking at him over his shoulder.

 

*

 

Zayn takes a while to answer the door, which Harry finds sort of funny; it's not like he didn't know he was coming. But he's in good cheer when he finally opens it, dressed down in a t-shirt and sock feet. He's smiling.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” says Harry. His cheeks are tingly, and he smiles back without even meaning to. He lifts his hand, which is wrapped around the slender neck of a bottle of chardonnay. “Can I drink around you? I can chuck this, if not.”

Zayn nods. “You can. Haven't you, before?”

“I dunno,” Harry says. “Don't think so. Think I've been drunk around you, is all.”

“Ahh, right.”

“I just want the one glass, anyway. Take the edge off.”

Zayn beckons him inside. They head through the foyer and down the hall together, and Harry glances around. He wasn't quite paying attention, the last time he was here. The place is nice. The ceilings are high, and everything's done in creamy whites and soft grays. Occasionally, lavender pops up as and accent color. And there's a subtle but noticeable amount of bling — crystal doorknobs, diamonds glittering in the chandelier. It throws off shards of light that catch in your peripheral vision and make you blink.

“I feel you,” Zayn says. “I’ve been smoking since I got back.”

“Yeah, I can smell.”

“Sorry. I know you don’t like it.”

Harry has a sharp pang of affection for him, suddenly. He’s always liked how he says his O’s. “I can make an exception,” he says playfully.

“I wanna quit,” Zayn says, leading him into the kitchen, where his Syena is sat at the island tapping away on her Macbook. “It's just like, a big part of sober culture... Speaking of, Sy, you know if I have a corkscrew around here?”

“Uhh,” Syena says, glancing up. “That's a long shot, but I actually have one in my purse. Hi Harry.”

“Hey there,” he says, setting the wine down on the island. They only topically discussed their personal lives during their affair, but he seems to remember Zayn mentioning that he’d promoted Syena from being his PA to his manager. Harry thought at the time that this was a pretty unorthodox move, but she seems to do a good job of keeping Zayn sober and on an even keel, so he likes her for that. 

“Lifesaver,” Zayn says to her, getting a Fiji water for himself out of the fridge. “You about done here, love?”

“Why, am I being kicked out?” she says, sounding amused.

“Correct,” Zayn says, tweaking her on the shoulder.

“Alright, alright.” She folds her laptop up, pulls out a stylus and hands it to him. “Sign this real quick.”

Zayn signs it in a loopy scrawl and has handed it back before he asks, “What's that for?”

“Medical release,” Syena says. “Handing over both your kidneys to me. Is the corkscrew for you, Harry?”

“Yep.”

She fetches it from her purse and tosses it to him.

“ _Merci_.”

“ _Je t’en prie_.”

Harry gives her a flirty smile. “ _Tu parle francais_?”

Syena winks back. “ _Oui oui.”_

“ _Jolie, et une femme de culture? Il a del a chance._ ”

She blushes, smiling.

“English please,” Zayn interrupts, handing her the laptop back.

Syena turns to him. “It was just a photo release, for the shoot from a couple weeks ago.”

“Right, right,” he says. “I'll see you tomorrow, then?”

Harry starts digging the corkscrew in with measured spirals of his wrist. 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Syena says. She waves as she heads off. “Bye boys!”

“Bye!” they chorus.

Once she's gone, Zayn sneaks up behind Harry, slipping his arms around his waist and brushing his lips over the back of his neck. Pleasure trickles down Harry’s spine.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Zayn says. “So… you're gettin’ a divorce.”

“I am.”

“How you feel?”

“Dunno,” he says bitterly, and pours himself a glass of wine. He drains it fast and wipes his mouth. His watch slips down his wrist as he does. “Weird. Sad. Empty.”

Zayn comes around his side, leaving one hand on him, resting his palm against Harry’s ribs. He studies him with his sleepy eyes. “But you do want to be here? ‘Cos if it's too much, right now…”

“I want to be here. I feel better, being around you.” He shrugs. “So don't make me go.”

“I won't,” Zayn says, sounding pleased.

Harry leans in and presses a brief, greedy kiss to his mouth, biting at his lip, then pulls away.

“What'd the prince say?”

“I haven't spoken to him,” he says. His mouth gets dry every time he thinks about this. “I left in the middle of the night and had the papers messengered to him. I blocked his numbers, I told my friends, family, my team, all not to take his calls.”

The details are perfectly crisp in his head. Slipping out from underneath Angelos’ arm in the dead of night in nothing but his silk boxers, creeping into the bathroom so he could hastily dress by the light of the yellow haze from the street lamps outside that was bouncing through the double glazed window. He called a car to take him to the airport and snuck downstairs, hurrying barefoot through the gorgeous hotel lobby and outside into the dewy early hours.

Harry’s car took him right under the shadow of the Eiffel. He didn't look up at it as they passed. He was too busy getting on the phone to his lawyers.

Zayn whistles. “Cold.”

“I know.” Harry pours himself another half a glass. “Hey… how’d Louis end things with you? Just wondering.”

He always feels like such the outsider when he pries for crumbs of details about their marriage. He's desperately curious about it, lately, but Louis has been so closed to him for so long now, and Zayn avoids mentioning Louis to him altogether. Sometimes it’s as if they were never married, except for the moments when Harry manages to probe at the seams of tender ache that runs through Zayn, like he's doing right now.

It reminds Harry of an injury he got on set once; he sliced his ankle open, close to the bone, and the injury was so dry it took ages to heal. The wound couldn't close itself. He would forget about it except for when he brushed up against it, because then it hurt so bad that he went faint, blood throbbing in his temples.

Zayn settles onto a stool and leans his chin on his closed fist. He's silent for a few moments.

“He came out to see me when I did that documentary for Vice,” he mutters. “Came all the way to fuckin’ New Zealand. Basically told me I'd destroyed his trust, worn him down, an’ he couldn't handle being married to me anymore.”

Harry thinks of himself, sitting in the shower. He feels a strange, twisted kinship with Louis, then. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Zayn grunts affirmatively. “Least I got a goodbye.”

“Well, you deserved one.”

“Dunno about that.”

Xander hangs in the air between them.

“You're no Angelos,” Harry says. “You might've fucked up, but it's different.” He drags in a hitching breath. “I was really under his thumb... I still dunno how I let that happen.”

He feels weird even talking about it; disloyal, like he's betraying something sacred, and edgy, like Angelos is about to jump out from behind a doorway and scream “A-ha! You bitch!”

But there's nothing but the two of them, and a grandfather clock ticking loudly from the other room.

Zayn is looking at him. Harry can tell by the look that he wants to fuck him. That's quite alright — he wants to be fucked.

“Shit gets the better of all of us,” Zayn says. “Doesn't mean you're weak or stupid. You're only human.”

“Am I?” Harry says, with a coy little smile.

He smiles back easily, his eyes crinkling. “Aye, you are, fucking alien boy. You're as human as anybody.”

Harry is pleased enough by this that heat briefly rises in his cheeks.

“So you wanna be with me, now,” Zayn says, rubbing at his beard. “For real, like.”

“For real.”

“No sneaking around.”

“A bit of sneaking around,” Harry says apologetically. “‘Least when it comes to public outings. This divorce is gonna be a PR problem for me. I need to finesse it.”

Zayn looks suddenly concerned. “Wait, is it gonna come out, about you and me?”

“Nah,” he assures him, “we signed NDAs as part of our prenup. We can’t reveal the identities of our, y’know... liaisons.”

He snorts. “‘S’like a fuckin’... I dunno. Bit  _Fifty Shades_.”

“Oh, now that's just insulting.”

“So you're free and clear, then?”

“Not entirely. He can still say I had an affair, just not with who. And I can't come back and say we had a semi-open relationship, ‘cos that's even worse for me, PR-wise. So if the press finds out I shacked up with you right after I dumped him… they'll put two and two together. Hence the discretion.”

“Gotcha.”

“You game for this?” Harry says, studying him. “Me and him were a high-profile couple.”

“I know that.”

“I just mean it's about to be a rough few months for me.”

Zayn reaches for Harry’s hand. Harry takes it, and they intertwine their fingers.

“I'm here, love,” he says. “I’m game.”

 

*

 

It's not long before they end up in bed, and Zayn fucks him for a good half an hour in the late afternoon sunshine. Their bodies missed each other; they barely get their clothes off before they're falling into the dark sheets, and they hump and snog for a while in needy desperation before Zayn even tries to get it in. Neither of them can stand not being pressed up against the other. They do it in missionary, Zayn fisting his hand in Harry’s hair, wrapping it tight around his knuckles as he fucks him, staring intently into his eyes. Harry moans more and louder for him than he ever normally does. He's an incoherent, shaky mess.

When Zayn finishes and sits up to tie the condom off, Harry squints at him through the hazy light and then wraps an arm around him and rolls him over onto his stomach.

“Hey,” Zayn murmurs with a laugh. “‘Sup?”

“I wanna fuck you,” Harry says, staring at the pattern of scratches he left down Zayn’s slender back. He rubs his rock-hard cock against the cleft of Zayn’s arse to punctuate this.

Zayn turns a bit to look at him lecherously, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. “Go on, then.”

They haven't done this since they were teenagers, Harry fucking him. Most alphas don't like it, but Zayn’s always been a bit different. Now more than ever, it seems to give him relief to pass off control to somebody else.

Harry had noticed a sobriety chip resting on his bedside table. It made him wonder exactly how long Zayn’s been sober, if he's had any relapses since his divorce. There's so much he doesn't know about him anymore. He has a sort of neurotic need to know it all at once, so he can update his mental pro-con lists, recalibrate the chartplotter in his head.

He presses kisses to Zayn’s shoulder blades as he starts to finger him, and Zayn lets out a happy sigh.

“That was hot, you talking French earlier,” he murmurs.

Harry kisses up the back of his neck, nuzzling behind his ear. Zayn’s hair tickles his nose. “You liked that?”

“Yeah…”

“ _J'ai vraiment envie de toi,”_  he murmurs in his ear.

Zayn rolls over onto his back and gazes at him, his head tipped back and his eyes dusky. Harry presses a kiss hard to his mouth. Their teeth click.

“ _Ton cul_.” Harry rocks his hips against Zayn’s. “ _Ton joli bite… je veux te sucer la bite_ …”

“Mmm, you sound like you've done this before.”

“Done what… had sex?”

Zayn chuckles softly. “Talked dirty French.”

“Yeah, in Paris… last year. Before I got married…” Harry reaches down to stroke his cock, and Zayn’s eyes follow his hand intently. “With this French couple… he fucked me while I ate her arse.”

“There’s my freaky boy,” Zayn says, his voice husky and admiring.

“It was sort of depressing, actually. Don't think I fancy threesomes much, anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Harry works his cock into him, the two of them sighing and grunting with the effort, and then he lays down with him, slowly working his hips. Zayn wraps his arms hard around Harry, presses tender kisses to his cheeks and forehead. Harry closes his eyes and lets himself be held fast. He drifts, still thrusting, not wanting to come, not wanting to leave the warm clutch of Zayn’s arse or the comfort of his arms.

When he comes in Zayn, it's a gentle clench and blissful release, and he exhales heavily, nuzzling into his throat. He lays a across Zayn’s tattooed chest, and Zayn strokes his hair in a way that's a bit parental, but nice all the same.

“Listen, I was gonna say before… I don't wanna rush things,” he says, his voice soft. “With all you've got going on.”

“This isn't, like, a rebound,” Harry murmurs, playing with Zayn's necklace.

“Still.”

Harry’s body swarms with hot prickles of embarrassment. “Okay,” he says tartly. “Whatever. I’ll see you ‘round, then.”

“Wait, hang on. I don't mean I'm not taking this seriously, alright? I just mean let's go ahead carefully.  _You_  were the one who was so freaked out about us.”

“I know.”

“So what is it, then? Just the fact that I'm the one saying it this time?”

Harry hesitates. “Maybe,” he admits with reluctance, and they both laugh. He leans up to kiss Zayn on the mouth, then adds, “But the main reason I was freaked out about us was ‘cos I was afraid to leave my husband, which I've done.”

“And now you've got the fallout from that hanging over your head.”

“I know.”

“Look, I get it, you're free, it feels good. It's sort of overwhelming. Makes you want to rush out and do impulsive shit.”

“What impulsive shit am I trying to do?”

“Nothing. I was just saying.”

“I know what I want,” Harry says. “You're what I want.”

Zayn is quiet, then, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Alright,” he says.

Harry locks eyes with him, taking his face in his hands. “What are you so scared about?”

“It's a bit hard for me to believe that I'm gonna be enough for you,” Zayn mutters, sounding defensively tense, like he doesn't quite want to admit this. “I mean, all things considered.”

“What things?”

“Oh, Harry, Christ, come on… you were  _royalty_ , alright? You’re already everybody’s darling, everyone's obsessed with everythin’ you do, and a prince wasn't even enough for you, you had an open relationship wiv him! I mean, what am I? Fucking washed-up divorced alcoholic with two kids?”

“Oh, boohoo,” Harry says, laughing and stroking his stubbly cheeks. “Please. Your career’s going well, you're healthy and sober and happy, you've got two wonderful kids who love you dearly. You've got a lovely life, and I want to be back in it. Is that enough for you?”

Zayn’s eyes soften. “Alright,” he says.

“I don't give a fuck who he was. I don't care about that… I’m a bit insulted you thought I did. You know you could be a chimney sweep for all I care.”

Zayn snorts. “Chimney sweep…”

“And you know I agree we should take it slow... Just, y’know, not too slow.”

“I wasn't saying too slow,” Zayn says. “I just want to respect the fact that your marriage just ended, and it's gonna be crazy for you for a while. You don’t know how it feels, getting divorced, but I do.”

“I get that.”

“Alright, then.”

Harry bites at his lip. “I think we sometimes talk past each other a bit, you and me.”

“We do, yeah.”

“I put myself fairly far out on a ledge for you,” he says, breaking his gaze and looking down to toy with Zayn’s chest hair. “I told you I love you. I left my husband for you. So remember that, when you wanna get aloof with me.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, slipping his finger under Harry’s chin and tilting his head up so he has to look at him. When Harry meets his eyes, Zayn breaks into a sweet smile. “Tosser... I love you, too.”

Harry smiles too, his heart getting fluttery. “Well,” he says. “Alright then.”

“What, you didn't twig?”

“You aren't exactly an open book, mate! You sort of just slink around scowling, most of the time…”

Zayn laughs. Harry snuggles up against him, resting his head on Zayn’s chest, and Zayn tugs the comforter up around them.

“Bit early in the day for a snooze,” he murmurs.

“Catnap,” Harry suggests, letting his eyes fall shut. “And then we wake up and fuck some more.”

Zayn lazily runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Sounds perfect.”

They've almost drifted off when Zayn, sounding drowsy, says, “The other thing is, uh. My kids.”

“Kids?” Harry murmurs.

“Yeah. ‘S’far as goin’ slow.”

“Ohh, yeah. Makes sense.”

“I mean, they already know you… that's good in some ways, weird in others… Anyway, for a while, that's gonna be half the week I can't have you over here, least not for sleepovers.”

“Right… that's fine, though, honestly. I think maintaining some space would be good for me, right now. So maybe that's perfect, actually.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“How do they usually react to you dating people?”

“Different ways.”

“Like what?” Harry prods him.

Zayn inhales. “I mean, they handled the divorce differently. Yasmeen’s a bit older, I reckon she saw more of it… she's gotten really protective of Louis. I can't blame her.”

“So if she notices it's weird between me and him, she might hold it against me,” Harry says.

“Ah, nah, don’t assume that. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“What about your son?”

“He just hates change in general, takes ages for him to get used to new shit. He’s finally got used to Liam, but ‘e never has any interest in the people I date, they're never around long enough to win him over.”

Harry's a bit intimidated by the word  _finally_. After all, Louis and Liam have been together for years now. He wonders, if him and Zayn end up working out, how long it would take for him to become truly enmeshed. And then he turns to his now-familiar anxious thoughts of — what if they don't work out, what if he just ends up wasting more of the prime of his life? And what if he never settles down?

“I wanna be around long enough for that,” is all he says aloud.

“I want you to be, too,” Zayn murmurs.

“You don't think they're gonna torture me, do you?” Harry says, rubbing his thumb over Zayn's nipple. “Like a  _Parent Trap_  type thing? Dump me in the river?”

Zayn laughs. “They aren't  _that_  bad!”

“They seem very schemey. Every time I see them, they're off scheming in a corner together.”

“They've got bright futures as car thieves.”

“I’m joking… they're sweet kids.”

“They are.”

“They both play piano, don't they?”

“Amir does. Yas quit. She didn't like that he was better than her at it. She's really into football, besides...”

Harry loves the tender pride in Zayn's voice when he talks about them. He cuddles up closer against him, letting his eyes fall shut again as he listens.

 

*

 

Night has fallen by the time Harry wakes up. He wets his lips and clears his throat, blinking to focus his eyes in the dark, then rolls over to look at Zayn.

He's sitting up against the pillows, his face lit up by his phone, which he's smiling at.

“What's up?” Harry whispers.

“Ahh, nothing… Tommo sent me a snap of the kids listening to the babies’ heartbeats…”

Harry slowly stretches, twisting in the sheets so he can crack his back. “That’s sweet,” he says softly.

Zayn drops his phone onto the bed and leans over Harry, snogging him.

“That’s not weird for you?” he murmurs when they separate, looking up at Zayn in the dark. His chain glistens where it's dangling from his neck.

“What?”

“Him having kids with Liam.”

“A bit, yeah. Been a bit weird.”

Harry waits patiently. After a while, Zayn adds: “Christmas this year was sort of weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Usually he heads over from Doncaster to meet me at my parents’ with the kids, then stays for a while... this year he just dropped ‘em off with me and went with Liam.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs. “I mean, he's pregnant, Liam's family wanted to see him… I reckoned they would. He didn’t believe me when I said so.”

“Were the kids alright with it?”

“Yeah, they didn’t care.” Zayn lays down with a soft groan, wrapping an arm around Harry. “Why?”

“Just curious… You haven't talked to me about this, much.”

“I ‘aven't?”

“We haven’t talked about anything much,” Harry reminds him. “Least of all your kids.”

Zayn sighs. “Sorry. Just didn’t see the point.”

“It’s alright,” Harry says. “But I like it when you trust me enough to tell me things. You know a lot more about what I’ve been going through lately than vice versa.”

“‘Course I  _trust_  you, Christ…”

Harry smiles at him.

“Well, Christmas was only weird ‘cos…” Zayn rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Even after the divorce, we still felt like a unit, y’know? Still did holidays together, went on trips together.”

“And now that's ending.”

“Right. Since he moved in with Liam, it's just been less like that.”

“Makes sense.”

“I worry it’s getting sort of chaotic at their house... I don't want them to get lost in the shuffle.”

“I don't think Louis would ever let that happen.”

“Nah, he wouldn't.”

“And Liam’s sensitive to that sort of thing.”

Zayn snorts.

Harry nudges him. “He is.”

“What makes you ask about that shit, anyway?”

“Just been thinking about what you said earlier… And I was a crap stepdad to Angelos’ kids, I think…”

“I doubt that,” Zayn murmurs.

“No, I was. I was always so busy, I never bothered making a real effort to win them over, and I was like, fixated on starting my own family. It sounds awful, but I think I resented them for the fact that their dad didn't want any more kids, even though it wasn't their fault. They hated me from day one, though, ‘cos I wasn't even ten years older than them, and their mum hates me.” Harry plays with Zayn’s necklace. “I keep thinking about that, the past few days. I spent part of Christmas with him and his kids… we went to church, all that. I was already planning to leave him, so it was worse than usual.” He shrugs. “They must be relieved to be rid of me.”

“They're cunts if they are,” Zayn says. “And you weren't a crap stepdad, I'm sure. They were grown, they didn't need you fussing over them.”

“Yeah, guess you're right.”

Zayn leans in and kisses him again. “My kids won't start hating you. Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry nuzzles him, dragging his lips over his cheekbone. “You wanna make dinner?”

“Sounds great.”

 

*

 

Zayn, exhausted from getting to bed late after their post-dinner sex marathon, tries to sleep through the chaos of the following morning — at first he thinks it's the alarm on his phone that keeps going off, and slaps at it intermittently for about a half hour before he wakes up enough to realize he isn't accomplishing anything. That's when he figures out it isn't his phone that's going off, it's Harry’s, and it's not the TV that's making noise, it’s Harry taking phone call after phone call.

He yawns and rubs at his eyes, squinting against the daylight pouring into the bedroom.

“Yeah, I understand that,” Harry is saying. He's out of bed, pacing back and forth in nothing but his boxers. “But I need you to understand — okay, no, sorry, fucking get me, I'm not asking, I'm telling you. Do it  _now_. I'll wait.”

Zayn sits up. “Yo…”

Harry holds up a finger without looking at him. He’s wild-eyed and doesn't look like his usual pleasant self. “Good,” he snarls into the phone. “Smart choice. Goodbye.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the bed. “Fuckers,” he spits. “I’m gonna sue them ‘til they’re dead.”

“Uh,” Zayn says. “Mornin’…”

Harry runs his hands through his hair. It’s short again, lately. It gets so wavy when it’s short. Makes Zayn want to run his fingers through it.

“It's out,” he says. “Everywhere. The divorce, that I had an affair... I thought I'd have more time. It was on fucking CNN, just now. He even leaked I'm an omega. It's so much shit at once.”

“Shit,” Zayn says, his heart dropping. “I'm sorry.”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“Anythin’ about me?”

“No, you haven't been named.”

“Come back to bed.”

Harry relents, crawling back to him across the covers and laying his head in Zayn’s lap. Zayn strokes his hair and studies the short, straight bridge of his nose.

“He said all this horrible shit about me,” Harry mutters. “It's everywhere. My mum called me at like half five, crying.”

“Haz…”

“I don't wanna talk about it… I can't think about it too long.” He sits up. “I've got to get downtown, actually, I have to meet my manager —”

“Hang on,” Zayn says. “No, let’s turn your phone off and go outside, alright? Let your lawyers and reps handle this. Let's go in the back garden.”

Harry's already picking the phone back up. “I can't, I have to —”

Zayn takes it out of his hand and tosses it aside again. “No, you actually  _don't_  have to, this is why we employ people.”

Harry stares at it where it's laying in the sheets, his jaw tight. “A half hour,” he says. “A half hour outside.”

“Good enough.”

 

*

 

They toss on some clothes, and Zayn makes them coffee to bring it outside in thermoses. Out back, it doesn't feel like the world is quite awake yet — the birds are up and chirping, but the sun is still hazy and low in the sky. They walk through shafts of sunlight that are falling through the trees like piano keys until they get to Zayn’s best-loved thicket, where he's strung up a hammock.

“I don't reckon we’ll both fit,” Harry says, sounding fondly amused as Zayn works to straighten the hammock out.

“We will. Just cuddle close.”

“This your sneaky plan to get in my pants again?”

“You serious? Like I need a  _sneaky plan?_ ” He glances behind himself at Harry, who's standing with his hands on his hips, his cock hanging all full and delicious-looking in his boxers. Zayn reaches out and gropes it.

Harry grins at him. “Don't be so cocky,” he says. “You know I like to be romanced.”

“Please.” Zayn climbs into the hammock and beckons him. He sets his thermos in the soft grass and awkwardly comes in after him. It's like having a foal try and get into bed with you. Zayn gets elbowed hard in the sternum, and tries not to groan in pain.

“There we are,” he says, when they've finally achieved equilibrium, and Harry is cuddled up to him with his hand on Zayn’s chest. “Perfect.”

“Bit cramped.”

“But there's fresh air, and no phones…”

Harry’s quiet for a while. “You remember Paulina?” he says. “That Hungarian model? I dated her for a minute. You did too, a while after me. I think you'd just gotten divorced.”

“Paulina…?”

“Not familiar?”

“Vaguely.”

“You might've just fucked her.”

“Could be. That was a weird time for me.”

“Anyway,” Harry says. He grips Zayn’s shirt in his hand, like a talisman. “Things didn't end between us great. I was doing a lot of coke around then, I was doing stupid shit. She said to me that I deserved any bad luck I had in relationships, that I was a narcissist, thought people were disposable…”

“What's making you bring that up?”

“I dunno! I dunno what's wrong with me, right now. My brain just keeps going in circles.”

“Want a Xannie?”

“Maybe.”

Zayn lays his hand atop Harry’s, stroking him with his thumb. “Look, I got why you dumped me,” he says. “I didn't think you thought I was disposable garbage.”

Harry laughs. “Good.”

“And neither of us should’ve, y’know, settled down and got married at eighteen…”

“I was seventeen,” Harry points out. “You bad man. You contributed to the delinquency of a minor.”

He laughs. “Yeah, yeah. But y'know what I mean, like? It wasn't the right time for us. We both needed, y’know, to grow up and figure ourselves out.”

“If we'd’ve stayed together,” Harry murmurs, “maybe there wouldn't’ve been… I dunno, all the shit that there was, all this awful shit…”

“You're playing weirdo brain chess with yourself and regretting things from ten, fifteen years ago. Cut it out. This ain’t gonna solve anythin’. And it's not how you normally deal with shit, which is why you're stuck going in circles.”

“I can’t stop! Everything’s a fucking mess, and I’m  _never_  gonna win a Grammy —“

Zayn, taken aback, lets out a laugh. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. I just thought by thirty, I’d have a kid, and either an Oscar or a Grammy, or both.”

Zayn reaches up and strokes his hair. “Please get a grip,” he says, gently.

Harry sighs. They lay there swaying in the breeze for a while, Zayn shrugging his arms more securely around Harry, who appears lost in thought. The birds are still chirping away, and they're both starting to sweat in the California heat.

“I can't stand people talking about this,” Harry says. “It feels different, this time, this isn't like my other breakups. Like… my skin’s crawling, I want to jump out of my body.”

“The people who matter won't care about this.”

“No offense, Zayn, but that’s utterly meaningless, y'know? With the amount of effort I put into all of this? I mean, Christ, if I only needed my mum to love me, I could've kept working at the bakery.”

“Stop thinking about it. Seriously. The only thing that's gonna heal this is time.”

“So what should I think about instead, then?”

Zayn tips his head back, looking at the canopy of trees above them. “Let's play twenty questions,” he says. “Guess what I'm thinking of.”

Harry doesn't say anything for a while, and then: “Fine. Is it a person?”

“Nope.”

“Animal?”

“Nope.”

“Vegetable?”

“Nope…”

“Object?”

“Yeah.”

Harry’s brow knits like it does when he's thinking. “Object… alright. Shit, I've used four already.”

Zayn smiles. “It's an easy one. Keep guessing.”

 

*

 

He manages to keep Harry distracted for a few hours; he spends an hour working out on Zayn's rowing machine, then they fuck on the floor of the gym (the walls are all mirrored, so this is a lot of fun for two people as vain as they are). After that, Harry goes off to the greenhouse to meditate among the plants. At one point he made an offhand comment about missing when he had a motorcycle, so Zayn had to make a mental note to not let him run out and buy one of those.

Zayn hides his electronics from him — his personal iPhone, his semi-personal/work iPhone, his iPhone he uses exclusively to take photos, his work Blackberry, his Apple Watch — keeping an eye on them and letting him know when there's good news, like his social media manager texting him that #WeLoveYouHarry is trending number one worldwide on Twitter, or his friends calling to tell him they're on his side, or Gemma calling to tell him she's going to feed Angelos to some dolphins. (“Where're you gonna find dolphins on a Wednesday?” Zayn said bemusedly). Or when a possibly drunk Kathie Lee devotes a good five minutes of the fourth hour of the  _Today_  show to defending Harry’s honor. 

He doesn’t tell him about Kevin Abstract cryptically tweeting a bunch of prayer hands emojis, or the several other thousand similar tweets, or the texts and DMs piling up from Harry’s exes. He’s not a jealous guy, but he sort of wishes people could know they’re together. He knows it’s selfish, but he feels weird being left so thoroughly out of the swirling vortex of gossip surrounding Harry right now, when he’s the reason for the divorce, when he’s the shadowy face behind the affair. 

Even Taylor calls Zayn, early in the afternoon. He has no idea how she knows that the two of them are back together — he's given up on figuring out how she knows all the shit she does.

“Tell him I said I'm sorry,” she says, not specifying who  _him_  is. “And I hope he’s doing okay.”

“I can do that,” Zayn says, muting the TV. “Thanks for calling.”

“Is he doing okay?”

“He was having kittens all morning, bit better now.”

“Is he there?”

“Nah, he's off meditating.”

“Good. So… would it be inappropriate to transition into asking you something work-related?”

He laughs.

“I'm serious!” she exclaims. “I really want to run something by you, but not if he was like, in the room crying, or something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay, you remember that conversation I told you I had with Mark?”

“Which Mark?”

“Ronson.”

Next to him on the couch, the Blackberry starts buzzing. Zayn recognizes the name — it's the EP on the movie Harry’s doing. He'd called earlier, looking to give him a hard time.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says, ignoring it.

 

*

 

An hour later, Harry still isn't done meditating. Zayn’s waiting for him to get done so they can part ways, and he can go fetch the kids; he’s sipping a LaCroix on his front porch when Angelos rings him.

He calls from a restricted number, so Zayn picks up out of sheer curiosity.

“Hello,” Angelos says coolly.

“Hullo,” Zayn says. “Who's this?”

“Angelos.”

Adrenaline floods through him like a dam in his spine has broken. Zayn’s head snaps up, and he looks down the length of his long driveway, squinting at the trunks of the massive oaks along it as if someone might pop out from behind one of them. He doesn't know why he's so paranoid — except that he’ll never forget what it felt like to be tailed by this guy’s henchmen, something about it more intimate than being tailed by fans or paps has ever felt. Like he really might come out of the affair with a broken kneecap, or something.

“The fuck are you calling me for?” Zayn says, trying to keep his nerves and anger in check, in case he's being recorded. He tries desperately to remember if California is a two-party consent state, or not. While he's thinking, he lights a cigarette. “How’d you get this number?”

Angelos ignores his second question. “Just wanted to congratulate you. You win. Nice job.”

“I didn't win anything, mate. You could've had it all with him. You threw it away.”

“I'm sure that's tempting for you to believe.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because if he's not a flake, then you haven't made a huge mistake in shacking up with him.”

“I've known him a lot fuckin’ longer than you have. I know who he is.”

“Sure,” he drawls.

“I feel bad for you,” Zayn snaps, blowing out smoke. “You’ve made the biggest mistake of your life, here. I hope you know what you just lost.”

“I hope you know what you're taking on. Do you realize how overshadowed you'll be?”

“Difference is, I'm man enough for that. I've made mistakes, grown and learned from them. You, you're a fuckin’ stuffed shirt. You haven't learned anythin’. You were born with everything, absolutely everything, and you choose to live your life like this. I really do feel sorry for you.”

Angelos laughs. “That's a good little speech,” he says. “What a romantic you are, you empty-headed pretty boy, you arriviste addict trash. You weren't even enough for your weasel nobody of an ex-husband, and you think you're man enough for someone like Harry? Good luck.”

He hangs up before Zayn has the chance to, which is absolutely infuriating. He quickly texts him,  _harry told me you've got a little prick_ , then blocks his number and heaves a sigh.

 

CANOGA PARK, FEBRUARY 4, 2025

“Well,” Elijah says, “blood pressure looks good, too.”

Louis lifts his arm; with a squelch of Velcro, Elijah pulls the cuff off him.

Liam, who had gone over by the window to answer a text in the better light (he forgot his reading glasses again), comes back and settles his hand on Louis’ shoulder. “So what’s your biggest worry, right now?” he says.

Elijah fetches a tape measure, takes a seat on his rolling stool and rolls over to Louis, stretching it across his belly.

Louis shifts in his chair. Lately, he doesn’t really like anyone touching him besides Liam or family. When he went to the kids’ school a few weeks ago to watch Mia in rehearsals for a play she’s doing, one of the mums he’s friendly with automatically went to touch his middle, and he jumped from her like he’d been electrocuted.

“My biggest worry is Louis going into labor prematurely,” Elijah says, checking the tape measure and, to Louis’ relief, taking his hands away. “You’re measuring ahead of where you should be… I’d like you to rest as much as you can, Louis, and once you hit week thirty, I’d like you to be on full bed rest until the birth.”

Louis was afraid he’d say that. “Alright,” he says. “Whatever I need to do.”

Liam squeezes his shoulder. “He’s been resting a lot already,” he says, then drops his voice to a whisper: “I think he’s tired of it.”

“I’m fine,” Louis counters. “I do like having a lie-in... Maybe fifty of them in a row is a bit less fun, but.”

“You had preeclampsia with your first pregnancy, right?” Elijah says, tossing the tape measure aside.

“Yeah,” Louis says, “but I reckon it was only ‘cos I was on tour. My blood pressure got normal after I got home.”

“Good.”

“And I had a bit of bedrest with my son… just the month before he came. Doctor was worried about my pelvis.”

“I am, too,” Elijah said. “You’re not a big guy, as you know.”

Louis snorts. “I do.”

Liam keeps rubbing his thumb over Louis’ shoulder. A second later, his phone starts ringing.

“Jesus,” he says, pulling it back out. “It’s Agnes.”

“Something wrong?” Louis says, glancing up at him.

“No, no, Mims just forgot to send her book report to her teacher before she left... she asked Agnes to do it, but she can’t find it on her laptop… I’ll take it in the hall, let you two finish up.”

“Wait, wait, I think I helped her with that report,” Louis says. “Tell Agnes it’s not on the desktop, it’s in her Google Drive, or whatever.”

Liam gives him a thumbs up as he answers the phone, heading out into the hall and pulling the door shut softly behind him.

Louis feels a little kick and shifts again, making a face. “Anything else you want to warn me about?” he says to the doctor.

Elijah smiles kindly at him. “Actually, I was interested to see how _you_  were doing.”

“Me?”

He nods. “You. Louis. Not you and the babies, just Louis.”

“Oh, alright,” Louis says. “Any particular reason?”

“Well,” Elijah says, “I see you previously had two routine screenings for postpartum depression, and they were both in range for PPD. Low, but in range. Especially after your first child.”

Louis, embarrassed, breaks eye contact. “I think I was depressed in general, around then. I’ve had some therapy since then, I’ve worked through some things.”

“Okay,” Elijah says amiably. “Did you feel at all, though, like your mood markedly worsened postpartum?”

“I dunno. I couldn’t say.”

“Did you have any trouble bonding with your daughter at first?”

“No,” he says, heat rising in his cheeks at the very suggestion. “No, not even a little, no.”

Of all the things he was deeply ambivalent about when he was pregnant with Mia, or when she was a little baby, she herself was never one of them. He knows that much. There were some days when it felt like she was all he really had, like she was the only outlet there was for all the extra love he’s got in his heart, itching to be spent and used.

“It wouldn’t be a personal failing,” Elijah says kindly, maybe because he answered so fast. “It happens to a lot of people. It doesn’t make them bad parents.”

“I’m not saying it does, mate, I just can honestly say I bonded with her right away,” Louis says, not looking at him. “And with my son, too. That wasn’t ever a problem. If I was depressed, or w’ever, it had to do with other things.”

“Okay, gotcha. And how do you feel right now?”

Louis glances down at his hands, zoning out as he looks at them. He’s wearing the watch Zayn gave him when he had Amir; it glimmers, slim and silver, on his wrist. 

“I’m alright,” he finally says. “Just, y’know… Shitty. Exhausted. I feel like a turtle.”

“A turtle?”

“You know, like how they get on their backs, and they can’t get up? Feel like that.”

He chuckles. “Is it that it’s twins?”

“It’s definitely worse, but… I’ve never liked being pregnant.” Louis flicks his gaze to the door. 

“I can understand,” Elijah says.

“I actually wanted to ask you… when I’m in the hospital, after… could I get, um. Can I get my tubes tied?”

Elijah nods. “Absolutely,” he says. “We can certainly do that for you. In fact, if you do end up needing a C-section, we can go ahead and do the tubal ligation while we’ve got you open.”

“Okay,” Louis says, with an exhale of relief. “Okay, yeah, let’s — let’s do that, please.”

“Four’s the lucky number for you, then?”

“Four is plenty,” Louis says. He hasn’t actually asked Liam if he wants more kids — the proposition is so absurd on its face that he doesn’t even feel like he has to.

Liam comes back in, then, slipping his phone back into the front pocket of his jeans. Smiling, he returns to Louis’ side and strokes his hair. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Louis says, glancing at Elijah, who takes the hint and adds, “Just the routine stuff.”

 

*

 

They get back and settle down in front of the TV in the den, but Liam gets a work call a few minutes in and apologetically gets up, taking it in the other room. 

Bored, Louis looks at his phone for a while, but he’s got a backlog of texts he needs to answer and it’s making him antsy. He sets it down next to him and settles his hands on his middle; he’s feeling some kicks.

He pushes up his shirt and hoodie so he can look at his right side, where there’s movement under the skin, and watches for a few moments as it distends and flutters.

Louis glances over at his phone again. He wants to share this, he thinks it’s the coolest thing in the fucking world, and everyone knows, now, anyway. It’s sort of a vestigial impulse that makes him want to hide away when he’s pregnant. The first two times, it was almost necessary to do so — for every hundred loving, supportive comments from his fans, there would be one nasty one, and he was such a raw wound back then that he almost couldn’t stand that.

There’s no reason to be afraid now, though. He picks up his phone; the sleek glass back of it reads his fingerprints, and it unlocks. He navigates to Instagram and opens up his story to add a video to it. He captures five seconds of his tummy fluttering, and then the babies go quiet in him again, like they're camera-shy.

He wants to add text, but he’s got no idea what to say. He’s never shared anything pregnancy-related, not like this. He’s made oblique jokes on Twitter about cravings and irritability, he’s been pregnant in photos he’s posted, and he’s posted plenty about his kids once they arrived. His sisters have publicly shared sonogram photos he’s sent them. Zayn posted lovey shots of him feeling Louis’ belly, when he was pregnant with Amir. 

But never once has it been one of those posts like birds and omega blokes from his hometown do, shots of them in the mirror touching their bellies with captions like _waiting on my wee one xx :)_. Or anything like what he’s about to do right now.

Louis quickly adds a filter and hits send before he can change his mind. He tugs his shirt back down and watches the views climb into the thousands, then the tens of thousands. Messages start coming in from people he mutually follows, ranging from heartfelt congratulations to shit like “ _looks like a fuckin alien in there!!!!!_ ” from his boys. 

Liam comes back with popcorn. “Hey,” he says, settling back onto the couch. 

“Who called?”

”Andy. What’re you looking at?”

Louis hands him his phone.

Liam squints, then beams at it, crinkly-eyed. “Love it,” he says, then cannily adds: “Just felt like sharing?” as he’s handing Louis’ phone back to him.

Louis shrugs. “Feeling a bit sentimental."

"Yeah?"

"‘S’the last time I’ll ever be pregnant,” he says, and glances at Liam, curious for his reaction. 

But Liam just nods, like this is a given. “Makes sense,” he says, and slips an arm behind Louis’ shoulders, then picks up the remote.

 

CALABASAS, FEBRUARY 10, 2025

Liam is fifteen minutes early; he finds a bench next to the classroom and taps his foot for a bit, but his dress shoe makes that echo loudly in the empty hall, so he starts jiggling his leg instead.

Ceci’s right on time. He turns as he hears the door down the hall creak loudly open, squinting into the sunlight that pours in, and through the haze he spots her clacking over to him in a pair of black pumps. She looks different, lately; she's lost weight since she started doing movies and commercials, and she really didn't have any spare weight to lose. Liam worries about her, but it isn't his place to say anything. She'd take it the wrong way, besides.

She stops in front of him, folding her arms. Her hair is in a chignon. Between her sheath dress and Liam’s dark suit, they could be the perfect pair of wealthy yuppies. The only thing that gives them away are Liam’s hands; his tattoos, and how his ring finger is bare while hers is weighed down with a massive, glittering rock. “Is she ready for us?”

“Not yet,” Liam says. “The couple who went before us are still in there.”

Ceci checks her Rolex and exhales through her nose. “Okay.”

Liam gets up so she can sit. She does, and pulls her phone out, looking at it. There's tension in her jaw.

“How've you been?” he says.

“Fine,” Ceci says, not looking up at him.

“How's John?”

“Fine.”

“Look, I'm sorry about the holidays,” he says.

She finally meets his eyes. “Yeah, you've seemed  _so_  sorry,” she says coolly.

“Let’s not do this. I don't want to go in there all tense.”

“I’m not tense. No one told you to make small talk at me.”

“I was being polite!”

The door opens; two mums walk out, shepherded by the teacher. One of them double takes at Liam like she recognizes him. He flashes a sort of wooden smile in response.

“Hey there!” says the teacher, extending her hand to Liam.

“Hey, Ms Walters,” he says, shaking it.

“Please, you can call me Jeanine by now.”

Ceci gets up, and shakes her hand as well.

“I don't believe we've met?” Jeanine says, tilting her head. “Are you Sunday’s mom?”

“Yes,” she says tightly.

“Ri-ight, well, cool, good to have you, thank you for coming in.”

Jeanine’s demeanor matches her look, which is very typically Gen Y California hippie — long graying braid, sun-damaged skin, loose bracelets, warm smile. She couldn’t be contrasting harder with Liam and Ceci, their mouths set grimly under gaunt cheekbones, in dark gray attire and excessive hair product. Together they're probably wearing at least fifty thousand dollars of clothing. Liam suddenly feels like a very ridiculous person. He longs for the days when he’ll do this with Louis, instead. Louis would be taking the piss out of him for the fact that he wore a suit.

They follow Jeanine into her classroom. It’s brightly lit, full of art and bean bags. There are no desks, but instead tables, with chairs arranged around them; Liam and Ceci sit at the one closest to Jeanine’s desk.

Liam only realizes after they've sat down how chilly their body language is to each other, and tries to sit more loosely, but he thinks the damage has been done, as far as how they're coming off.

Jeanine doesn’t sit behind her desk but instead perches on top of it. “So, first off, I love your kid,” she says, smiling. “I think she's an old soul. She's very sweet and polite, and definitely smart.”

For some reason this simple sentence makes a lump rise in Liam's throat. He looks down at his hands, nodding hard. “Thank you,” he says. “That's really nice of you to say.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Ceci says, sounding subdued.

“You're welcome. She's also a fairly solid student,” Jeanine says, “although a little distracted, prone to daydreaming. I think horses take up a lot of her time outside school, is that fair to say?”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees. “But I make sure she's staying on top of her schoolwork, too.”

“And I wanted to say, I took what you said into consideration, Liam, about the behavior of other girls in the class,” she continues. “And it seems to me that maybe that little drama has been mostly resolved.”

“Really?” Liam says.

She nods. “I don't want to get too much into issues concerning other children, but I think there's been an, ah, shift in the wind, socially. She's being left alone by that particular group now.”

“Good,” he says, with great relief.

Ceci glances between then, clearly wanting more information but unwilling to ask for it. Liam doesn't even know what he'd tell her. He's sure it would start a fight if he were to explain to her that Louis’ daughter had taken it upon herself to beat on Sunday’s bullies like an irascible little caporegime.

“How are things at home?” Jeanine says, peering over her glasses at them.

“Good,” Liam says evasively.

“What's the situation, there? I know we had to shuffle around — what was his name, Omar?”

“Amir,” he says.

“Right, Amir. I couldn't take him in my class, because the office had it in their files that he’s in the same household with Sunday.”

“Liam has full custody of her,” Ceci says. “And he lives with his boyfriend, and his boyfriend’s two kids.”

“Fiancé,” Liam says. “My fiancé. Louis.”

“Who’s pregnant,” Ceci says. “So it’s chaotic over there.”

She says  _chaotic_  in a very specific way — lightly enough that there’s plausible deniability, while somehow injecting it with a tang of prim disdain that only he can hear. It echoes in his skull like a hangover headache. That one word manages to make it sound like he and Louis are a pair of new money, cocaine-addled British rockers who are fucking constantly in the ruins of their trashed household and only stop long enough to have more babies.

“Not  _chaotic_ ,” is all he says.

Jeanine nods. “But she was an only child before then?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, “but we moved in together a full year ago.”

“Right, so she's been adjusting. That makes sense.”

“I think it's been good for her,” he says, with a little defiance in his voice that's entirely aimed at Ceci. “To have more family around.”

Ceci laughs her tinkling laugh. “I don't know if I'd call them family just yet,” she says.

“She's about to have two blood siblings,” Liam says, “so, y’know. There's that.”

It's so unlike him to not be able to steer things in a more diplomatic, reasonable, tactful direction that he doesn't even realize he's speaking until it's already out. Jeanine, who he's had plenty of phone conversations with over the last year, seems surprised at it herself. Liam hugs his arms over his chest.

Ceci draws herself up in her chair, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She really is beautiful, although her looks are now totally remote to him. Her iciness to him stands in absolute contrast to Louis, who, scruffy and unassuming as he may sometimes be, is an irresistibly inexhaustible source of warmth. Something about him still makes the blood rush to Liam's skin. Even just thinking about him does the trick.

“Good to know,” Jeanine says. “Just my opinion, though, she seems plenty mature enough to handle that kind of change.”

“Thank you,” they chorus.

Jeanine then takes them to Sunday’s cubby and shows them her grades (mostly good) and her artwork/doodles (mostly horses). When they walk outside, squinting and reaching for their sunglasses under the assault of the bright February day, Ceci turns to him and says, “Listen, I’m sorry I haven't been involved with this stuff. I really want that to change.”

Liam glances back at her, still rooting through his pocket for his sunnies. “What stuff? School?”

“Everything,” she says. She looks sort of tearful, which is unusual for her. “Her school, stuff like that. The horses thing, even. I mean, I rode when I was a kid. I just… I felt so suffocated, and I ran away from you guys, I abandoned you, and now I want to fix it, but the more I try the more it feels like it's too late —”

Liam wraps an arm around her and guides her over to a glazed and sanded tree stump that he guesses is meant to be a place to sit. Whether it is or not, they perch on it. He inhales, then says, “It's not too late to be in her life.”

“It is,” Ceci insists, digging in her purse for a Kleenex. “She barely knows who I am. I barely know who she is!”

“You can fix that,” Liam says gently. “But if you really want this, you have to commit to it. You can't give up on it if it gets hard, or whatever. I've been really afraid that you're gonna say you want this, then just let her down. You’ve been flaky, and that scares the shit out of me.”

Ceci looks at him, her eyes glittering with tears. “I really did think I wanted a family,” she says huskily. “You have to believe me. I wanted what my parents never gave me and my brother, you know? I wanted to be a warm mom, and to do it right. I wanted like, a happy house. And you were so sweet and romantic… I don't know what happened, it just all got away from me. I’m sorry, I am.”

Liam blinks through his own tears. “You don't actually want me back, do you?”

She shrugs. “What I want is a second chance at the past five years, and I'll never get one.”

“I know.”

“It hurts so much to see you so happy with him,” Ceci says. She dabs at her eyes, careful not to mess up her mascara. “I know you still were in love with him when we first got together. As soon as you told me what happened, I knew. I don't want you to deny it. I know you rebounded with me."

"I'm so sorry. I really am." His voice breaks. "I really thought I was past all that. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"It's — don't. I let it happen."

"You know I loved you. That shouldn't ever be in question. I loved our family so much."

"I know." She sniffs. "I loved you too. And I thought I could just shove the Louis thing away, because I knew in some ways I was using you, too. But it started feeling like we were living this fake life, I felt like a little doll in a dollhouse, and that was how I felt my whole childhood. So. The only thing I could do was run away.”

“Ceci, you don't have to do this...”

“No, I do,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. “Because I never told you this stuff, and I wanted to. And I look at that sweet little girl, and I don't know her.  _You_  know her. You tuck her into bed at night. You take care of her when she's sick. You throw her birthday parties. I’m just some extra in the background, all I can do is take her to Napa! I had no idea there were like, girls bullying her, none!”

Liam pulls away from her and buries his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, trying desperately not to cry. Tears leak silently from his eyes and collect in the creases of his palms. He tries to catch his breath.

Ceci hands him a tissue. Liam dabs at his eyes, too.

“If it makes you feel better,” he says roughly, “she didn't tell me about that either. I had to find out from Louis’ daughter.”

“Oh,” Ceci says.

“She's quiet,” Liam says, swallowing over the ache in his chest. “And prideful. She doesn't always tell me a lot. I try to be there for her anyway. But going it alone has been so fucking hard, Ceci.”

“You have Louis,” she says bitterly.

“He's not her mum, you are, and you left years before he came in the picture. There’s things that I think, y’know, she wants to talk to her mum about... I think she needs you... I didn’t want to admit that to myself, ‘cos it means I’m lacking, but.” His voice cracks, and he chokes back emotion. “She was such a happy-go-lucky baby, and now I hardly see her that happy anymore except for when she’s with her horse. It’s been better since we moved in with Louis, I won’t lie. She’s less lonely now. But I know she misses you. I know she wants you in her life.”

“I swear I want to be there more.” She gazes at him, her hazel eyes bright from crying. “I really do. I love her so much, Liam, you know how much I love her.”

Liam nods hard. “I'll lighten up. I will. I can open the door to her up wider. It's just you have to be around for the shit like this, the parent-teacher conferences, whatever… you can't just stick me with the hard stuff and then take whatever holidays you want, even when she doesn't want to go.”

“I know! That's why I came to this! I'm making an effort!”

“I see that! And I really appreciate it!”

“I can't stand thinking you hate me. I feel like it's going to make her hate me.”

“I don't hate you,” Liam says. He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I could never hate you. And neither does she. Alright?”

She sniffs. “Alright.”

Liam casts a wary glance out over the car park. “Really hope there's no paps,” he mutters.

“I can't believe they still follow you as much as they do.”

“Well, it's been worse, lately.”

“Because he's pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

Ceci nods, playing with the balled up Kleenex in her hand. “Congratulations, by the way,” she says, with some difficulty.

A lock of her hair has come free of the chignon; Liam uses two fingers to gently push it back from her temple. “Thanks.”

 

*

 

Back at the house, Amir is having a piano lesson in the parlor, and according to the family group text, Agnes has taken Sunday off to the barn after dropping Mia at football practice.

Liam heads upstairs and tosses his suit jacket into the laundry chute, then gently shoulders open the door to their bedroom, thinking Louis might be napping.

He's not; he's up and watching TV, resting comfortably in a nest of pillows he's built. The more pregnant he gets, the more pillows appear in their bed, and the more Louis himself spread-eagles. Liam has been wondering if there'll even be room for him by this time next month.

Liam rolls up his sleeves and leans on the doorway. “Hi there.”

Louis tears his gaze from the TV and smiles at him. “Hey hey. You look natty. How was it?”

He shrugs. “Went alright.”

“C’mere, have a cuddle with me.”

Liam happily obliges, worming his way into the pillow castle and settling underneath Louis. He rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder and a hand on his middle.

“Somebody’s kicking,” Louis murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Move your hand down.”

Liam does, and feels a rolling flutter under his palm.

The babies are on the move all the time, lately — Louis is less annoyed by this now that he's spending most of his days on the couch with his feet up, surrounded by pillows, or in bed, surrounded by pillows. Liam spends a lot of time just hanging out and pampering him, rubbing cocoa butter on him. They've both let their work lives dwindle into dormancy. They're like two birds roosting, talking about how they're going to name their sons Beavis and Butthead.

"Ceci and I had a good talk," Liam murmurs, kissing him on the neck.

"Yeah?" Louis says happily.

"Yeah."

"Good, babes..."

Liam nuzzles him, not saying anything else. It doesn't feel like he has to. 

“I’m watching the worst show,” Louis informs him, letting his head drop back against Liam’s shoulder. “It's completely stupid, everyone on it's a douchebag.”

“Watch something else,” Liam suggests.

“Wow, it’s like you don't know me at all.”

Liam laughs. “Alright, walk me through the plot, then.”

“So, it’s a spin-off of Big Brother 21, I think? It’s got this chav, Edmund something, and it's about ‘im and his brother running a chip shop… They’re from up your way, actually, but it's not exactly flattering representation, they're dumb as shit. Anyway…”

Liam snuggles into him more surely as he chatters away, pressing his nose to his hair and inhaling the smell of his shampoo.

 

CALABASAS, MARCH 13, 2025

Louis wakes up groggy and needing to pee. He can hear a mower going outside; next to him, Liam makes a soft sound. He shifts in their bedding, then glances over at him.

Liam’s eyes are closed, his head tipped back and his lips parted, Adam’s apple standing out on his neck. His hand is moving under the covers.

Louis struggles into a sitting position. He swears he gets more achy every day. “Hey,” he murmurs.

Liam’s eyes spring open. “Hey,” he says, breathing raggedly.

Louis studies him. “You jerking off?” he says.

He flashes a guilty smile. “I might be.”

“What,  _at_  me?”

“Well,” he sighs, “the doctor says I’m not allowed to fuck you anymore, and it's been a bit frustrating…”

“Yeah, I know, but in the bed?”

“Like we never come in the bed?” His hand is still moving, remarkably. “‘Sides, I like to look at you when I come.”

“Aww,” he says, flattered.

Liam nods, breathing harder and closing his eyes again.

He feels a little zinging cramp from false labor and makes a face. “You mind if I get up to piss?”

Liam shakes his head.

He doesn't, though; he keeps watching him. It's sort of hot, although he's not exactly in the mood. “Hey… are we gonna circumcise the twins?”

Liam’s hand stops. “Tommo,  _what_?” he says, laughing.

“Sorry, I’m just thinking about your willy.” Louis lets out a groan as he slides out of bed. “We’ll discuss it later.”

 

 

*

 

The house is still and quiet when Zayn lets himself in. He knows that Liam’s off at some horse thing with his kid and his ex-wife, and Louis is on bed rest, so he doesn't expect to see any grown-ups besides the nanny. He texts his kids that he's here, and they tell him they're playing in the back garden and want ten more minutes.

Zayn relents to this and stands there answering texts, wondering if he has enough time for a smoke. He hates the kids smelling it on him, is the only problem. He's running out of places to smoke, lately, between the kids and Harry.

After a couple minutes, Louis comes out into the foyer, leaning hard on the doorway and smiling at him. He's in a black hoodie that's poncho-like in its looseness, but you can tell how pregnant he is. “Thought I heard you come in.”

“You should be in bed,” Zayn says.

Louis nods, pushing his hair back off his forehead, then drops his hands to his middle. “I, um… Okay, don't panic or anythin’, please, but — I’m wondering if I should give me doctor a call?”

Zayn’s body floods with anxious adrenaline. His vision goes all funny and bright. “Why? What's wrong?”

Louis shifts, exhaling. He seems to grow more physically uncomfortable each time Zayn sees him, but today it's worse, and he looks peaked and fearful besides. “I’ve been ‘aving false labor all day… hasn't hurt, just been annoying like usual. But then I've started having pains, since the top of the hour.”

“Jesus,” Zayn says, feeling a nauseating mix of worry and annoyance at being made to worry. “You maybe in labor?”

“No, I’m not,” Louis shoots back, “I'm only thirty weeks —”

He breaks off and swallows whatever he was about to say next in favor of a pained whimper. He presses his forehead against the doorway, biting down on his lip.

Zayn moves quickly toward him and helps him to the stairs, making him sit, then kneels in front of him.

“You could be,” Zayn says. “It's twins.”

“I’m not having them three months early!” he cries.

“But you  _could_  be.”

“I’m not. I'm fine. It's something else. They aren't happening at, like, regular intervals.”

Zayn exhales. “Look, I dunno if you're the best judge of this. I mean, you had one of our kids in the car.”

“Hey, that's not fair! It went really quick, an’ I was a bit preoccupied fucking looking for you!”

“What’re you gonna do if you are in labor? Hold ‘em in?”

“Yeah, I will!” Louis shoots back defiantly. “‘Cos they aren't fuckin’ coming!”

Zayn stands, shouting through the house, “Agnes?”

It takes a minute, but the nanny comes up from the basement, holding an empty laundry basket. “Hello!” she says cheerfully, not seeming to notice Louis’ relative level of distress on the staircase. “I was just finishing some laundry up before I head home.”

“Change of plans,” he says. “Could you watch the kids for a bit longer, please? I’m taking Louis to the hospital.”

Louis lets out a soft cry of pain. Zayn rubs his back.

Agnes’ eyes get very round. “What's wrong?”

“He might be in labor.”

“Oh, gosh, I hope not.”

“I’m not,” Louis snaps, his voice scratchy. He inhales with difficulty and presses two fingers into his hip.

“What’re you making all this noise for, if you're not?” Zayn says.

“‘Cos me pelvis is fucked up again, and it hurts when I'm out of bed. That's all.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “Ow, ow ow!”

“Alright, that's it, we’re going to the hospital,” Zayn says, and comes back over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and heaving him to his feet.

“Wait, I need to call Liam,” Louis says a bit frantically, cupping his hand to his middle.

Zayn realizes then that he sprung into action so fast, and with no thought of Liam whatsoever. Louis’ mention of him, plus the sort of indecent way he always says his name — that plaintive, breathy sigh of  _Lee-um_  — brings him sharply back into the present. It's not 2016, or 2017. This isn't his husband anymore, those aren't his babies.

He's still worried, though. He can't untangle Louis from his heart or his gut. And he hates the thought of his own kids, as young as they still are, standing around in the NICU worrying about their siblings.

“I know, bro,” he says. “You can call him from the car.”

“And — hang on, Zayn, I need shoes.”

Zayn stops again, exasperated.

“I'm sorry!” Louis says pitifully. “I can't bend over… or see me feet...”

“Agnes, could you grab some shoes for him?”

Agnes hurries to the coat closet and complies, sliding them across the marble floor to Zayn. He kneels to slip them onto him, and Louis grabs his shoulders, leaning on him hard.

“I hope everything's okay!” Agnes calls after them, getting the door as Zayn steers Louis out of the house, his arm wrapped securely around him.

“Thanks, love,” Louis calls back. “I’ll text you, alright?”

They head toward Zayn’s brand-new Maybach. He hopes to God history isn't repeating itself, and Louis isn't actually in labor; he got the one with the cream leather interior. He opens the back seat door, and Louis shakes his head.

“I just thought you might wanna lie down,” Zayn says. “Just in case something… happens.”

“I’m not in labor, for fuck’s sake! I think I’ve got a general idea of what labor feels like, by now!”

“Alright, alright!” He helps Louis awkwardly maneuver into the front passenger seat, then heads around to the other side. “Fuckin’ bust my fuckin’ eardrums for asking a simple question...”

“You don’t  _lis-_ ten.”

Zayn slides into the driver’s seat, pressing down the keyless ignition. “I’m listening to you, I just think you need to be less fucking stubborn all the time!”

“Oh,  _I’m_  the stubborn one?”

“More than one person can be stubborn! Christ...”

Louis exhales heavily. “Can you quit yelling at me?” he says. “I’m just scared, alright? I hear what you’re saying. I get it.”

Zayn softens. “Sorry. Look, I’m sure everything’s gonna be fine.”

Louis glances over at him. “Hey,” he says, with a tender affection in his voice that gets Zayn right in his soft spots. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He scoffs. “‘For what.’ For taking care of me like this. You don’t have to do.”

Zayn flaps his hand at him. “It’s nothing, Louis. I’m happy to do it.”

Louis smiles at him, then shifts in the seat, sucking in a breath and wincing.

“Alright, call your fiancé already,” Zayn says, and punches the hospital into his GPS.

 

*

 

As soon as Liam gets the call, he tells Ceci to apologize to their daughter that he's going to miss her round, then he’s off like a shot — off the bleachers, past the show-jumping ring and out the barn doors, running down a bluestone gravel road past dozens of kids of varying sizes seated atop their horses, bolting for his car in the car park and yanking the door shut behind him so hard he torques his elbow and has to sit there cursing for ten seconds before he peels out.

Five minutes before he gets to the hospital, his car’s AI loudly announces in its cool female voice, “Incoming text from ‘Tommo’. Would you like to override Do Not Disturb While Driving?”

“Please override,” Liam says back.

“Do Not Disturb has been disengaged.”

“Yeah, yeah, just read my texts, please!”

“Text from ‘Tommo’. Sent. At. Five fifty-three P.M.,” she says haltingly. “‘Everything’s fine, I'm fine, the babies are fine, just get here when you can.’”

Liam exhales heavily as his head and chest lighten with relief. He's at a red light, so he rests his head against the steering wheel. “Thanks,” he says out loud. “Text him ‘okay, on my way’.”

“Text message sent.”

 

*

 

Liam is met outside the hospital by Owen, Louis’ new bodyguard, who looks tired and nettled. He has razor burn up and down one side of his wide jaw. “Hurry up and get inside, paps followed them here,” he says as he leads Liam in a side entrance.

“I'm not really fussed about  _that_ , right now,” Liam says edgily.

Owen turns to him and shrugs, looking less intimidating in the wan light of a hospital. “Hey, look, Louis’ fine. I'll take you straight to his room.”

“Thanks, mate, I appreciate it.”

They head down the hall and get into a gleaming, sterile elevator. Liam rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet as they climb up to floor five.

Louis is only a few doors down. Owen shows him the room, and Liam pushes the door open tentatively, in case he's sleeping.

He isn't. He's up, talking and laughing with Zayn, who's sitting at his bedside. Soft afternoon light is pouring over them through the picture window, making them look like a little slice of life painting. Looking at them, Liam is tugged powerfully backward by the undertow of the past, and feels the briefest flash of embarrassment at having interrupted them, at being an interloper.

And then he remembers that Zayn is the interloper, now. He's sitting right where Liam ought to be.

Louis glances over when he hears him at the door, and grins. Liam smiles back at him. Zayn sits up straighter in his chair, withdrawing his hand where it lay across the blankets.

“Babe,” Louis says, “hey, you get my text?”

He’s in a hospital gown with an IV in his arm, and his other arm has a cotton ball taped to it like they took blood. The sad little white hospital blanket is tucked up around his lap, and he's got dark circles under his eyes, but he seems to be in good spirits.

“Yeah,” Liam says, and he comes over and kisses Louis on the forehead, stroking his hair. “I responded, you didn’t see?”

Louis glances at his phone. “Oops, no. Nurse came in and distracted me.”

Liam clears his throat. “So everything's okay? Babies are okay?”

“The babies are great.”

“And you’re okay?”

“I’m just peachy,” Louis says, grinning at him. “Actually, you'll have a laugh at this… doctor said it might’ve been gas pains.”

Liam does have a laugh at this. “Seriously?”

“I know! He said they're worse when you're dehydrated, which I apparently am, a bit.” He flicks the IV. “Either way, no labor today.”

“It's my fault,” Zayn says, getting to his feet. “I got spooked.”

“Yeah, he dragged me here,” Louis says, looking away from Liam to smile briefly at Zayn.

“I'm glad he did,” Liam says.

Zayn glances at him. He usually doesn't make eye contact with Liam, anymore; they stare at each other across Louis’ bed for a moment, before Zayn favors him with a polite nod.

“Thanks for waiting,” Louis says to him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“Hey, anytime,” Zayn says, and gives them a little wave before he heads off.

“Wait one sec, love,” Liam says to Louis.

Louis gestures to his middle, and the IV in his arm. “I look like I’m going anywhere?”

Liam catches Zayn right outside the door; he looks uneasily surprised, and a bit confused. “Hi?”

“Hey,” Liam says. “Sorry. I just wanted to, like…”

Zayn studies him with his catlike eyes. He gives nothing away; Liam flounders in awkward silence for a few beats before he finds his footing.

“Thank you,” he says. “For taking care of him today.”

Zayn shrugs. “He’d do the same for me.”

The bright, antiseptic light of the hospital makes it hard for Liam to coax out the words he wants to say. This is a conversation better left to the shadowy darkness, a conversation you have in a car at night, when you can't see the other person's eyes. Distantly, down the hall, he can hear a baby crying.

“I wanted to apologize,” he says, finally. “For ten years ago. ‘Cos I don't think I ever have, not to your face. And, uh, I was a stupid kid back then. But I've been going through some shit with my ex, and it's just made me think about, like... I dunno. I hurt you. And I felt like shit about it. I've felt like shit about it.” He drops his voice as a doctor walks by them. “I know this isn't the best place to do this in.”

Zayn nods, slowly. “I doubt you regret it,” he says, flicking his dark eyes up and down over Liam. “What you did. Considering you got him in the end. If you had to do it again, you wouldn't do anythin’ differently.”

He’s acting strange; he's doing his zen AA thing, like he's coming at this entirely from a philosophical standpoint. Liam almost wishes he'd smack him instead.

“I dunno about that,” he says. His heart is beating fast. “I dunno if that's true, mate. We were really close, at one time. I cared about you like a brother. I still do.”

Zayn’s eyes darken. “It’s not my fault shit changed between us. Not even a little bit my fault.”

Liam stands there in helpless silence.

“Look, I know you've got this need for everyone to like you —“ (Liam chooses not to react to this) “— but it's too late for us to be friends again. You know that, right?”

“I don't know that, actually,” Liam says, wounded. “You're happy. You've got a new life. You're with Harry.”

“Ain't about happy,” Zayn says, his voice soft. “It's about principles. And not digging up dead shit just so you can feel better.”

“I'm trying to make amends!”

“Now you're trying to speak my language when you don't know the first thing about it?”

“What do I have to do?” Liam says, more loudly than he means to. “Honestly, tell me. I let you flirt with him in front of me, smack his arse and call him pet names when you've been divorced five years now. I get up with your kids when they're sick, but I don't come to their football games or piano recitals, ‘cos I know you don't want me there. We waited  _so_  long to move in together. I'm Mr Nice Guy with you, always. I take your feelings into consideration all the time.”

“And for that, I’m perfectly pleasant with you, aren't I?” Zayn snaps. “I'm civil! I tolerate that you moved on him when he was pregnant with our daughter, I tolerate that you barely waited ‘til the ink was dry on our divorce before you walked back in the door, that you always seemed to conveniently pop up the second I was out of the picture, and when Louis was at 'is most vulnerable —”

“ _Hey_! Way over the fucking line!”

“And I  _tolerate_  that you get up with my kids when they're sick, you think that’s a  _favor_  to me? I never want to not be there when they need me! You've got full custody of yours, you’ve got no idea what it's like!”

Liam steels himself against the hurt and anger burning in his throat. “So then this is how it's gonna be between you and me, then, for the rest of our lives? Just this shit, endlessly?”

Zayn exhales heavily. “Look, just go back in. Louis’ gonna wonder about you, and with what you’re putting him through, he doesn't need the stress, alright?”

Liam squints. “Putting him through?”

“You know what I mean. You just  _had_  to have fucking twins?”

“What about it?”

“‘E's little! He was in bad enough shape after Amir! He ‘ad to do physical therapy, he was taking fuckin’ opioids all the time!”

Zayn’s getting a bit loud; Owen glances over at them from where he's lurking by the elevators.

“I know all that!” Liam exclaims. “You think I haven't been worried sick about him? But I don't have control over us having twins, man, are you out of your mind?”

“Why'd you have to have more kids to begin with? Anybody in this situation  _need_  more fuckin’ kids?”

“We wanted them! We planned to get pregnant! It's none of your fucking business!”

“Nice swipe at me,” Zayn scoffs, “we  _planned_  for ‘em, good for you —”

“I was just saying. It wasn't a swipe. I didn't do this  _to_  Louis, we made a decision together. We love each other. We're getting married. Is that fucking alright by you?”

Zayn is no longer looking at him; he's staring off into middle distance down the hall with a muscle in his jaw jumping. Liam tries to breathe deeply.

“It’s just that I still care about him,” Zayn finally says. “And the one nice thing about you being wiv him is that you're good to him. You take care of him, keep him safe. Usually. I don't fucking like seeing him the way I just did. In pain, or scared, or whatever.”

“I didn’t like seeing him like that when it was your fault,” Liam snaps, “I didn’t like it when you walked out on him, on all of us —“

“I was having a nervous breakdown!”

“Well, as long as we’re blaming each other for shit we had no control over! He's gonna be fine, I'm taking care of him!”

“Where were you at, today?” he challenges. “Why are you always taking meetings and shit, why are you always off somewhere when he’s in this delicate a condition?”

“I have to have a life, I have to be there for my daughter, too, and Louis knows that, so you know what, you can just back the fuck up off me and stop projecting your own fucking regrets on me!”

They stare at each other, breathing heavily. Liam no longer wants to be hit; he wants to do the hitting. At his side, his hand has tensed into a fist. Ten years have vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Look,” Zayn says with difficulty, “why don't you get back in there and we’ll forget we had this stupid conversation?”

“I never get a chance to talk to you. So I thought I'd take one and say I'm sorry. That's all. That's literally all I wanted.”

Zayn nods curtly. “Yeah, alright.”

“I wasn’t looking for a fight today, seriously,” Liam says, aching. “All I wanted was to let you know I'm sorry about what happened during OTRA. I’m sorry I didn’t come clean with you that I was sleeping with him. That wasn’t cool of me on any level. And this is way overdue, I know that. But it never felt like the right time to say it. And everything around then was just so crazy, it all happened so fast.”

“Right,” Zayn mutters. “Whatever. I hear you.”

“Yeah? ‘Cos I really never meant to hurt you, man, I swear on my life, that was never my intention.” He swallows again. “And I’ve missed you, all these years. I wish there was a way to fix this shit between us.”

Zayn looks away from him, blinking hard. “Just go back in there,” he says huskily. “I ‘ave to go pick up my kids.”

“Okay,” Liam says, and watches him walk away.

Back in his room, Louis has slipped his pulse ox monitor off his finger so he can scroll through his phone. When Liam comes over to sit beside him, he doesn't look up, but instead mutely extends a hand and yanks on Liam’s hoodie string like he's a windowshade.

“Oi, nuisance,” Liam says, batting his hand away.

Louis looks up, suddenly crestfallen. “Oh Payno, I'm sorry. I've just realized, you're missing Sunday’s thing, aren't you?”

He shrugs. “You come first, right now. She gets that.”

“What if I went into labor, and the same minute, she broke her leg or something?”

“I'd put you in the same hospital and run back and forth,” Liam says, tracing a circle on Louis’ belly and smiling at him. 

Louis smiles back.

“Plus, Ceci’s trying to get back in the picture, so…”

“Right, that.”

“I think you were right about a lot of things,” Liam says.

Louis looks pleased by this, but he's gracious enough to respond only with a gentle little, "Yeah?"

“Yeah. She seems to regret, y'know.”

“Bein’ a deadbeat?”

“Oh, I don't like that word.”

“I do,” Louis says. “Call a spade a spade.”

He laughs. “So, how's the babies?”

“Look at you, changing the subject. They're doing good.”

“How big?”

“Baby A is three pounds, four ounces, baby B’s nearly three pounds.”

“Well, ‘scuse the hell out of  _us_ , baby A,” Liam says in surprise. “What's he taking all the food for?”

Louis laughs. “Maybe baby B needs to get a bit more aggressive. Jump on in there.”

“So what’re we waiting on now, then?”

“Just a few more tests. I’m fine, love, really. You know how they fuss when you're famous, nobody wants to be the doctor that killed the blokes from One Direction’s babies…”

Liam climbs up into the bed next to him. “I know.”

Louis presses a kiss to his shoulder. “We should pack a hospital bag, though,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, definitely. We can do that tonight.”

He's quiet for a moment. “What were you talking to Zayn about?”

“Just thanking him for taking you,” Liam says. “Catching up a bit.”

“Really? ‘Cos I heard you raise your voices, and you looked pretty upset when you came in here.”

He inhales. “Yeah, we had a row. I tried to apologize to him.”

Louis looks at him in curiosity. “For what?”

“You know what.”

Silence forms and grows. Liam stares at the blanket until his vision goes fuzzy.

Louis settles back against the pillows, shifting in discomfort. “After ten years?”

“I never really have, before,” Liam says. “And it’s felt like this black mark on my life. I dunno. Ceci said something to me…” He trails off.

“What was it?”

“Doesn't really matter. Point is, I think of myself as a decent guy, but I never apologized for that. I just knew, you know, Zayn being who he is, I don't think he'd have wanted to hear it.“

Louis nods. “What'd he say?”

“That he doesn't think I regret anything. That it's a stupid conversation to even have. That he only tolerates me ‘cos I make you happy. The gist of it is he doesn’t want to forgive me, or patch things up.”

Louis lolls his head to the left a bit, and they lock eyes. “Do you regret sleeping with me back then?”

“No,” Liam admits. “I mean, I regret hurting him, hurting you by extension, hurting your kids by extension. I regret all of that, absolutely. I don’t regret falling in love with you. We didn’t think he’d make a go of it with you... so I don’t regret being there for you, no.”

“Thing is, my kids’d never known about you and me if he hadn't done that song,” Louis says. “I'm still angry with him for that. Now they're going to ask, when they get a bit older, and I dunno what the fuck I'm going to tell them. And I hate that everyone thinks I cheated on him, when he cheated on  _me_ , and I went to the fuckin’ ends of the earth when we got divorced to keep that from getting out, ‘cos I wanted to protect the kids.”

“That's entirely fair.”

“It’ll mend eventually, if he wants it to. You know how he is. You can't push.”

Liam pokes his tongue into his cheek, nodding.

Louis studies him with a tender look. “Here,” he says, and takes his hand. “Someone’s kicking.”

They lie there for a while with all four of their hands on Louis, feeling their sons flutter against the confines of his insides. Liam wonders what it'll be like for them, being twins — if they'll be especially close, or resent the expectation that they should be.

“Neither of us owe them, like, a blood debt, either,” Louis says, breaking into his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Zayn. Ceci. We weren't punishing them by getting back together. It just happened.”

Liam hesitates before he says the next thing, because it’s something they tend to tiptoe around: “We did sort of carry torches for each other for a while, I think.”

Louis doesn't say anything. He strokes his thumb over the back of Liam’s tattooed hand.

“I was still in love with you when I started seeing her,” he adds. “I shoved it down, really hard. I thought that was enough, I thought if I wasn't consciously thinking about it, if I wasn't talking to you or seeing you, it meant I was over you. And I really wasn't. And it was never fair to Ceci, I know that now. I take total responsibility for, like, the role that played in fucking things up between me and her. As hard as I worked at making us work, I couldn't, I dunno, erase that that was where we started out." 

Louis nods, his eyes searching Liam’s from under the lazy fan of his eyelashes. “I know what you mean, yeah. I actually remember the moment I stopped hoping you and me would ever happen.”

“For real? When?”

“‘S’ the day I got married… Same day I found out from Niall you were havin’ a baby.”

“Shit…”

“Yeah. I mean, I wasn't planning to leave Zayn for you…”

“No, yeah.”

“I guess I just still wasn't sure me and him would last, like, that he'd stick around. But then we got married, and I was pregnant again, and you were getting the family you wanted, so… it was just sort of everythin’ at once, really. I finally had to put you out of my head for real.”

Liam nods and strokes his hair.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What if I’d called you,” Louis says huskily, “and I'd said, Payno, I know it's terrible timing, but I love you, I can't live without you and I want you back.”

Liam smoothes his hand over Louis’ belly. “I never would’ve left Ceci for you, if that's what you're asking,” he says. "Especially not after Sunday. And I wouldn’t‘ve endorsed you leaving Zayn when you had two little babies with him.”

“Well, good. Right answer.”

“And neither of us are cheaters.”

“Right.”

“Suppose it would've just eaten away at me, knowing you felt the same.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I’m glad I didn't.”

“I never stopped thinking about you. It faded, but it was like… I dunno.”

“Like when you think the joint’s gone out, then you pick it up and take a drag and it's still lit?”

Liam laughs. “Romantic.”

“Best metaphor I could think of.”

“It was tough for me when we broke up,” he admits. “I think I went sort of crazy, and I didn’t want to admit it to myself. This vision I had in my head for things was, y’know. I couldn’t have it.”

Louis looks sad. “Did you want to be raising Mims with me?”

“I guess. Yeah. As fucked up as that sounds.”

“Not fucked up at all, love. There was a time when I wanted that, too.”

“And I was a bit bonkers without the stability of the band. Like, as awful as that aspect of it was sometimes… the routine helped. I knew exactly who I was expected to be, where I was expected to be, all of it.”

“I feel that, too.”

“So I just threw myself into whatever else there was for me to be.”

“I think I did the same,” Louis says, then hesitates before continuing. “I sometimes wonder if I wasn’t, y’know… subconsciously playing fast and loose with my birth control, every time I got pregnant with him.”

Liam blinks at him.

Louis laughs. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized!”

“I am, a bit! Shit, Louis, that’s quite a thing to say!”

Louis picks at the blanket. “I mean, even when it happened the first time… I knew the hiatus was coming, didn’t I? And I always felt like Zayn was on the verge of going… Even right before he left the band, I knew, somehow. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew. And I was just having him pull out. I let him believe that was enough. A lot of the time, we never used condoms. I was playing with fire.”

Liam stays silent, waiting for more.

“And I remember when I found out about Amir, I quite literally had the thought of ‘well, he really can’t leave me now.’ Which is beyond bonkers.”

“You were under a lot of pressure, I can understand. I mean,” Liam admits, “I used to bring Sunday into it, when Ceci was like, 'I don't want to go to counseling.'"

“Yeah, but that’s a  _kid_. She was already there and fully-formed and in your lives.”

“I guess.”

“When I was going to therapy a few years ago, and I talked about how Mia happened, me therapist asked, like, why didn't you make him use a condom? I couldn’t even answer her. ‘Cos I’d never really thought about it.”

“I mean, we’ve all done that, you get into a zone…”

“Not when you’re the one who might get pregnant, Payno. Trust me, there’s much less zone on that end of it.”

“Alright, fair, but I still think that’s a bit far-fetched, that you like, subliminally got pregnant on purpose ‘cos you were scared. Very typical therapist thing to say. It’s not like you were poking holes in rubbers or something.”

“Nah, you're right. Mostly it was that we were high, and we were just reckless, we didn’t think shit through when we were together, we were always egging each other on. But I’ve wondered, ever since she said it — what if the other part of it was… y’know. If each time, I wasn’t gambling a tiny bit intentionally.”

“A tiny, tiny bit,  _maybe_ ,” Liam allows.

“And,” Louis continues, “I let the kids be an excuse to sabotage my career a bit, I think.”

“Really?” Liam says, surprised.

He shrugs. “I thought the band was over, and I didn’t fully believe I could be an artist without you lot behind me. I really didn’t. I didn’t put all I could into the first album, honestly. I thought, like, well, if they don’t like it, fuck ‘em, it’s not my fault. I’ve got two little babies at home, who could blame me for sucking? And it’s ironic, innit, ‘cos I did it for my kids in the first place, to prove to them I was more than just their dad, to prove I had it in me. But I didn’t even really believe that, not for a long time. Probably not ‘til after I left Zayn.”

Liam feels a strong kick under his hand, and he smiles, reassured by it. “Well,” he says, “we make quite a pair, then, don’t we?”

“Aye, pair of self-sabotagers.”

He strokes his belly. “You absolutely do have it in you, by the way.”

“We both do,” Louis says, with an abundance of good cheer. “Actual backbone of that fucking band.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“We’re like the janitors or something.”

“The  _janitors_?”

“Y’know what I mean!” Louis exclaims.

“I really dunno if I do!”

“Oh, c’mon, Payno…”

“No! What is that, like, a riddle? Is that rhyming slang?”

Louis cracks up laughing, then, and Liam follows suit. They’re sent anew into peals of laughter every time they make eye contact.

 

*

 

Ceci brings Sunday home about an hour after they get back; they hear the front door open, and then half a minute later Sunday comes hurrying into the den, where they're settled on the couch, watching an old Bourne movie on Starz.

“Hi,” she says, standing in the doorway in her little jodhpurs and dirt-smeared white polo. Her curly russet hair has pieces of hay strewn through it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis and Liam chorus. Liam mutes the TV.

“So, the babies are okay?”

Louis beckons her over. Sunday comes to him and climbs up onto the couch, and he starts to pick the hay off of her. “The babies are perfectly fine, love.”

Ceci appears in the doorway, then, looking a bit less prim than usual. “There you all are,” she says. “She took off as soon as we got in the door.”

“How’d we do?” Liam says. “How’d Comet place?”

Ceci smiles, then slips a red ribbon out of her purse and holds it up.

Liam lights up in a smile. “Yeah! Nice!”

“It's only second,” Sunday says, sounding annoyed with herself. “I should've been first place. I screwed up my lead change.”

“But you just moved up divisions! Second is fantastic, sweetie.”

“That's what her coach said, too,” Ceci says. “By the way, her Pony Club friends are having a sleepover tonight. I think they're all meeting at… what's her name’s house?”

“Leanne,” Sunday supplies.

“Right, Leanne’s house. In a little while.”

“Cool,” Liam says. “You wanna take her over?”

Ceci looks surprised. “I can, if you want me to.”

“Yeah, I should stay here with Louis, and it’d be nice for you two to make a day of it.”

Sunday turns and looks at her mum with hope in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Ceci says. “Sure.”

“You don't have plans?” Sunday says.

Ceci flashes a smile at her. “I can rearrange things.”

Sunday smiles back.

“Alright, go on,” Liam says, and hands Sunday her ribbon back. “Go put that on your wall, and get cleaned up.”

Louis plucks one last piece of hay out of her hair.

“You're really okay?” she says.

“I'm fine, kiddo, and so are the babies,” he assures her. “I promise. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Okay, good,” Sunday says, and dashes off, grabbing Ceci by the hand and tugging her along.

Once they're gone, Liam snuggles up against Louis more firmly and wraps his arm back around him.

Louis reaches up and strokes Liam’s cheek, running a thumb along his full bottom lip. “Look at you,” he says with pride. “All magnanimous and shit.”

Liam shrugs. “It's for Sunday.”

“Still.”

He squeezes Louis’ bicep. “How's the back?”

“It's been worse. I'm doing alright.”

“Hey… can I ask you something that’s verging on your dad territory?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Depends. Let’s ‘ave it, though.”

“Alright. In your expert opinion…”

He snorts.

“... is this dangerous? Like, should I be a bit less magnanimous, out of caution? Is it possible I'm getting played, here?”

“Lessee,” Louis says. He holds his hand out, ticking things off as he goes. “Ceci’s not after money. She's  _probably_  not actually after getting you back, although I'm keeping a fuckin’ eye on her.” Liam laughs. “She was genuinely narked when you didn't give her the holidays, and she’s been coming reliably to the boring stuff, which is not exactly the hallmark of a non-reformed deadbeat.”

“Yeah, but how much of the holidays thing was her not wanting to look bad in front of her family?”

“Look, I can't tell you what she's thinking… you can't protect your kid from everything. All you can do is set good boundaries. The older she gets, the more she can say for herself whether she wants her mum in her life.”

“It's just hard,” Liam says, with a woebegone look. “She's not been a real partner in parenting with me. It's hard.”

Louis leans over and kisses him. “I know. But people do change, sometimes, and not just for the worse, either.”

“I know they do... I just wish I could know for sure."

“This is parenting, bro... just a giant question mark, all the time. And it’s never the things you worry about that’re the ones that end up fucking them up.”

“That’s true.”

Louis takes Liam’s hand in his and folds every single finger down but the middle one. Liam laughs.

“More of that,” he says. “And less worrying, if you can manage it.”

“I’ll try,” Liam promises.

Louis cuddles up into the crook of his arm, leaning on the pillow that’s stuffed between them. He finds a position that's actually close to comfortable, and freezes in place. “Film?” he says, praying he won't have to get up to pee for at least a few more minutes.

Liam nods and picks up the remote, unmuting the movie, then reaches down and tears Louis’ hospital band free from his wrist.

 

CALABASAS, APRIL 1, 2025

Mia seems to have a preternatural sense for when Sunday has finished her homework and is curled up in bed, watching one of the Kardashian spin off shows.

(Liam hates her watching them, he thinks it’s inappropriate for someone her age, but she managed to guilt him into letting her with a well-placed, “I just like that they’re a big happy family!” And that was the truth, anyway — she does like that part, although she also likes the glamour, and the frank glimpses into adult life. It reminds her of going to parties at her mum’s house, but not as boring.)

Today Mia barrels in with a few hair ties on her wrists, climbs up on her bed and says, “Aunt Lottie taught me how to do fishtail braids and I wanna practice, can I do them on you?”

Sunday says yes, of course (saying no to Mia is pretty difficult, it’s like saying no to the ocean) so Mia settles behind her, against her pillows, and separates her hair into sections. Sunday mutes the Kardashians.

“This is a bit hard,” Mia comments, tugging on her scalp a bit. Sunday closes her eyes, trying not to wince. “‘Cos you've got curly hair.”

“Sorry,” Sunday says. “When were you with Lottie?”

“Just now. She picked me up from school.”

“Ohh… I thought you were at practice.”

Mia tugs on her hair again, but this time it’s gentler. “Nah, she got me and not Amir so we could have, like, a girl’s afternoon. I think she thinks I’m not getting enough attention, ‘cos my dad’s like, asleep all the time lately.”

”Is she here for the babies?”

”Maybe. Or maybe for her work. I don’t remember.”

Sunday goes quiet for a while. “Is it ever weird, not having a mum?”

“Huh,” Mia says. “I don’t really think about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… like, I have all these aunts, and my dad's sort of like a mum, sometimes. I mean, he cries at sad movies and things."

Sunday laughs. "Your dad's not like a mum. He's got a beard, and he watches sports with his man friends and leaves stinky socks around. I think my dad's more like a mum than yours is."

Mia’s quiet for a moment. “Well, what’s it like having one, then?”

Sunday has to think about this for a while. Mia keeps pulling her hair, tilting her chin up, but the soft glow of her chandelier hurts to look at for too long. She drags her head enough to focus on the TV, where muted Kourtney is gesticulating to muted Kendall.

“Um,” she says. “I dunno. My mum isn’t like regular mums, I don’t think.”

“She’s a _star_ ,” Mia whispers theatrically in her ear, and Sunday giggles.

"I just meant how I don’t live with her,” she continues.  
  
“Oh, yeah. What’s she like? I feel like I don’t know her at all.”  
  
“She seems sad sometimes,” Sunday says, tracing circles on her bedspread with her finger. “I don’t know. She likes to do fun things. Mostly her and John talk about movies, and we go on adventures and things, like ziplining."  
  
"That sounds fun."  
  
"I guess."

Mia’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t think she likes my dad.”

“No,” Sunday says. “She doesn’t. But I think it’s just because she’s mad at my dad. I don’t think she’s as mad anymore, either. I feel like it got better.”

“D’you remember your parents being married?”

“I don’t remember too well what it was like before she left.”

“Amir doesn’t remember as much of when our dads were together, either,” Mia says.

“Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” she says, wistfully. “It was fun. They used to yell at each other a _lot_ , though.” Sunday can tell she’s shrugging, then, by the way her hands move. “Do you know why your parents broke up?”

“Um… not really. I've been wondering."

"Yeah, me too. About mine, not yours, I mean."

Sunday nods. "My dad always just says, like, that they wanted different things? But I don’t know what that means.”

“Ugh, annoying,” Mia says. “My dads always say stuff like that, too. I get the feeling from Aunt Lottie that my baba did something bad, but nobody wants to say for sure. Plus, she’d take her brother’s side anyway, right? I’d take Amir’s, if he got a divorce.” She tugs on Sunday’s head again. “Um, can you pull up Youtube? Because I’m _definitely_ not doing this right,” she says, and devolves into giggles, falling sideways onto the bed.

“What’d you do?” Sunday exclaims, laughing too. She pulls her iPad off her bedside table and hands it back to Mia.

“Okay, okay okay,” Mia says, her fingers flying. “I’m gonna get a tutorial. It’s fine.”

She sets the iPad up against a pillow in front of them. On the screen, a woman with platinum blonde hair sits in front of the camera, while manicured hands belonging to an off-screen person gather her hair into sections.

“Okay,” Mia says again, this time in a soft murmur. “Got it…”

She works in silence for a while, tugging less at Sunday’s head than she was before.

“I really like your hair,” Mia says. “Mine, like, can’t curl? We tried at a sleepover, and it just fell back down.”

“It’s annoying,” Sunday says. “It gets in my face when I’m riding.”

“There’s more to life than horses,” Mia says sagely.

“Hey,” Sunday says, remembering something out of the blue. “Maddie asked me to sit at her lunch table the other day.”

“Noo way,” Mia exclaims in vicious delight. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, it was really weird.”

“Did you tell her to fuck off?”

Somewhat scandalized, Sunday replies, “I mean, I said no…”

“Good!”

“She acted weird about it,” Sunday says. “I think she thought I’d say yes. But I always eat lunch with my friends.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Mia reaches out and pauses the video, then flicks her hand to rewind it. “I wish you were in my grade.”

“Why?”

“So you could eat lunch with me, dummy.”

“Oh, right.”

Mia leans into her vision, puckish, pretending to pout. “What, you don’t want to eat lunch with me?”

“No, I do,” Sunday exclaims.

“Good,” Mia says, and returns to doing her hair. “‘Cos I don’t have a sister, and I guess I won’t ever have one, now. Just a bunch of brothers. So you and I have to stick together.”

“Don't we already?"

“I guess so,” Mia says. “Well... good.”

Sunday smiles. The nice moment is interrupted when Mia shoves her head to the side so she can keep braiding her hair.

 

CANOGA PARK, APRIL 19, 2025

When he finally finds the maternity ward men’s room, Liam’s so tired he has to sit down to wee; he leans against the side of the stall, letting his eyes close briefly.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until the automatic toilet flushes itself and jolts him awake. He accidentally inhales a bit of spit and chokes on it, then staggers to his feet, quickly shaking his willy and fumbling with his jeans and belt.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Liam mutters to himself, elbowing out of the stall. It's about midnight, and the bathroom is eerily dark and empty. 

He wipes his hands on his trousers as he heads down the hall, blinking away the dry heat in his eyes. Louis is in room 614, or possibly 641?

No, it's first one. He remembers as he rounds the corner, dodging a woman being pushed along in a wheelchair. He nudges open the door to their birthing suite, squinting as the light shifts from antiseptic hallway fluorescents to soft, warm LEDs.

Louis lolls his head over on the pillows and smiles at him. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.

“Hi lovey,” Liam whispers, coming over to him and perching on his bed. He takes his hand in his, trying not to nudge the IV taped to the back of it. “Babies still getting their lungs checked out?”

Louis nods slowly. He’s at least twice as disreputable as Liam is — his eyes are bloodshot, underlined by dark circles, and his hair is dark and piecey with sweat.

“You get any sleep?” Liam says.

“In the five minutes since you've been in the toilet?” he murmurs. “No, not really. Tryin’ to stay awake ‘til they're back.”

“You look exhausted…”

He smiles wanly, stroking Liam’s thumb. “Yeah, twenty hours of labor’ll do that… You don't look so hot, yourself.”

Liam laughs. He’d already been awake all night with the stomach flu when Louis’ water broke at five in the morning. He was still puking when they got to the hospital — it was about six hours in before he felt any better, when he finally emptied himself out until all that was coming up was foamy bile into an emesis basin he’d been handed by an impatient nurse who was in the middle of tending to a mid-contraction Louis.

At this point, he's been awake so long he's afraid to actually count how many hours it's been. He figures the catnap he had in a chair (once Louis’ epidural kicked in and he stopped screaming and swearing long enough for Liam to doze off) should count for something.

“I'm feeling fairly okay,” he says. “Except I actually fell asleep in the loo for a mo, just now.”

“Nooo…” Louis reaches up weakly and strokes his face. “Poor Liam. You haven't complained once.”

“Well, it didn't quite feel appropriate when you were, y’know.”

He laughs. “Ahh, wasn't too bad. What’s twenty hours of labor with twins, right? I’ll just hold it over their heads forever.”

Even in his prickly haze of exhaustion, Liam’s heart clenches at the mention of them. “I want them to come back,” he says longingly. 

“I know… I forgot how it feels, when they're this little and away from you…" Louis inhales. “I still can’t believe I couldn't fuckin’ make it to thirty-seven weeks.”

He had made it to thirty-five, instead.

“Oh, babe, no,” Liam assures him, “you did so good… you were fantastic. They're good and big, aren't they? Looked tough?”

Louis gets teary-eyed, and his nose twitches. “No,” he says, his voice so used-up it's almost inaudible, just a whisper that cracks in the middle. He swipes at his eyes. “They aren’t. They’re all little and fragile, and it’s my fault.”

“Tommo, babe… Five pounds is plenty, okay? C’mere.” Liam picks up the covers and slides in next to him, snuggling close; Louis makes a soft sound and drops his head against Liam’s chest. Liam strokes his hair. “They'll be fine.”

“I let ‘em down,” he mutters. “I could've kept going longer, I got out of bed too much…”

“That's not true.” Liam kisses him on the head, then yawns. “You did great, I’m so proud of you.”

Louis was so upset that morning, when his water broke; Liam was hunched over the toilet when he appeared in the bathroom doorway, visibly upset and extremely pregnant, and said “It’s fuckin’  _happening_ ,” like he was the captain of the Titanic.

Liam had to call Owen to come drive them, because he didn’t have faith in himself to manage it. It was nice, though, because it meant Louis could lie across the back seat with his head on Liam’s lap. Liam murmured softly to him and stroked his hair. Between concentrating on Louis, and the bitter tang of the ginger candy he had tucked between his molars and cheek, he managed to not throw up again until Louis was settled into a hospital bed with the heartbeat monitor across his middle.

The trash can was too far away, so he threw up into a pitcher of ice chips. For some reason this sent the pair of them into hysterics. Louis laughed so hard that an exasperated nurse had to reset all of the equipment strapped to him. "We are the most miserable pair of bastards, right now," he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, and Liam had to agree.

“Want to bring the kids in to meet ‘em now, once they get back?” Liam says. “It's getting a bit late.”

Louis sniffs. “What time?”

“Midnight-ish.”

“Oh, shit, and they're still up?”

“Probably dozing in the waiting room, but yeah.”

“Agnes ought to take them home...”

“They should meet them first,” Liam says. “They all really wanted to, and it's only one night. They don't have school tomorrow.”

Louis nods slowly. “Alright,” he murmurs.

Liam kisses him again. “And then once she takes ‘em home, we can both get some sleep.”

“‘Til the other babies wake us.”

“Right.”

They doze for a while. Liam got a diffuser and aromatherapy candle going earlier, and the warm suite is filled with pungent lavender. He can barely keep his eyes open, and Louis conks out so fast he actually starts snoring.

The door opens, letting a shaft of light into the room. “Hi there,” the nurse whispers, smiling from the doorway. She's pushing the little bassinet cart in front of her.

“Louis,” Liam whispers, nudging him.

Louis jerks awake, bedheady and confused in the eyes. “Wha?"

“Babies.”

“Ohh, babies are back?”

“They are,” the nurse says, picking them up one at a time and handing them over. “Lung function is great, and they can go home with you right away. All you need to do is help them put on weight.”

Liam gets the first baby, who he thinks is Max — this is confirmed when he gets a good look. “Hi there,” he says to him, smiling wide. Everything fades away — the burning in the back of his throat, his staggering exhaustion, the fact that he hasn't eaten in two days.

Louis takes Patrick, snuggling him close to his chest. Liam glances up at him, watching him watch the baby. He loves the depths of tenderness and vulnerability on Louis’ face when he looks at them; it's like he cracks open entirely, and light shines out.

“Baby,” Louis murmurs, running his finger over Patrick’s cheek.

Patrick makes a little sound. He’s the smaller one, and Liam suspects Louis has taken a particular shine to him because of this.

“We all good here?” the nurse says.

“Yeah, love, thanks so much,” Liam says, glancing up to smile at her.

Once she's gone, Louis yawns and says, “You wanna go get the kids?”

Walking sounds difficult. “Can't we call Lottie?”

“Both our phones are dead, remember?”

“We didn't pack chargers?”

“We did, but you were too busy throwing up and letting me crush your hand to get them out the bottom of the hospital bag.”

“Fuck,” Liam says. “Right. What a day it's been, huh?”

Louis laughs wheezily and pats him on the shoulder, then slips his hand back under Patrick. “Well, I’m officially getting me tubes tied tomorrow morning, so, least we never have to do this again.”

Liam hesitates. “Listen —”

Louis’ bloodshot eyes narrow. “'Listen' what?”

“I just —”

“Liam. I'm getting it done.”

“It’s just so drastic, what if you want —”

“I won't! Seriously, is all this not enough for you? You want us to end up with six kids between us?  _Seven_?”

“No, no, no,” Liam whispers. “Not at all, that’s not what I’m saying, that’s not what I mean. It’s enough, it's perfect, I'm like, deliriously happy. It's just a really permanent thing, and I don't want you to regret it.”

“I won't, alright? I never want to be pregnant again. Never, never. Especially after the twins. I’m  _done_.”

Liam hesitates. Max starts fussing, and he gets off the bed, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I mean, look — what if I died?”

Louis starts laughing. “Really?  _Really_ , love?”

“I'm saying! If I got hit by a bus tomorrow, I’d want you to find someone else, alright? I’d want to know you're being taken care of. And what if they want kids?”

“Alright, pretending to take this seriously, if you die, I'll find a woman to end up with. If she wants more kids — which, first of all, I'd say no to — but if she insists, I'll get  _her_  pregnant. That work?”

“Sure.”

“You are so silly,” Louis says. “Do you really think about that?”

He sighs. “I just worry about you being provided for.”

“I've got so much money, Liam.”

“I mean emotionally, y'know?”

He smiles wryly. “‘Cos I’m so needy?”

“No, you really aren't. I just know you don't like being alone.”

“Well, maybe I’d find someone to be with just to be with them… but I wouldn't love them like I love you.” He clears his throat, and says in a little voice, “If you died, it’d rip my heart out.”

Liam’s chest and face flush, and his eyes prickle with heat. “Me too.”

“By the way,” Louis says, “if  _I_  died…”

“Please,” Liam interrupts him, “let’s not…”

He squints, seeming almost amused. “Why are you allowed to talk about it, and I’m not?”

Liam doesn’t have a good response to this.

“If I die,” he continues, “find someone to take care of you, alright? And the boys. But don’t love them as much as me.”

“I never could.”

“You know I'm so happy with what we've got here? My life’s full. I’ve got all the kids I need, for the rest of me life and then some.”

“Okay,” Liam says, shoring Max up in his arms. “That's all I needed to know. Go get snipped.”

Louis softens. “Thank you. And nobody’s dying, anyway, alright? We’re getting old together. I’m gonna rub arthritis cream on you. And then they’ll upload us in the cloud, and we’ll be ghost robots, an’ smoke joints on Mars.”

Liam smiles. “I can’t wait.”

Max stares up at Liam with his baby blues, unknowing but curious.

“Hi,” he murmurs. “You're just a tiny thing, aren't you?”

“Could we switch?” Louis says. “I haven't had as much time with Max...”

Liam passes him Max and takes Patrick, giving him a kiss on the head. For some reason, this inspires him to fuss. Liam rocks him, softly singing a few bars of happy nonsense, and he quiets down.

“I think Paddy’s got your nose,” he says to Louis, glancing up.

“Really? I think he's got yours.”

Liam sidles back up next to Louis and passes Patrick back to him with ginger care; Louis opens his arms so he can accommodate one baby in the crook of each elbow. He looks down at them, his sunny face lit up in a smile.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he says.

Liam kisses Louis on his sweaty forehead again. “I'm gonna go get the kids,” he whispers.

“Okay. Thanks, love.”

Liam slips off the bed, then wobbles from a head rush and grabs the edge of it to stay upright.

Louis looks at him in alarm. “Please eat something,” he says. “Even just a biscuit.”

Liam's stomach turns, and he shakes his head hard. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're not, and you're gonna end up in the room next to mine if you don't get some rest and some food.”

“I'll ask the nurse if she can check me in and put an IV in me, or something,” Liam says, and stubbornly adds: “But I ain't leaving this room.”

Louis laughs. “Okay, killer.”

“Don't condescend me!” he says, laughing too. “I'm in the best shape of my life!”

“I know you are, and that's the only reason you haven't passed out yet. But you realize you’re not twenty anymore, right? You do know that?”

”What’s that mean?”

“Just that between all you were doing at work —“

”I’ve barely been doing anything lately!”

”I know, but before that, and worrying about your daughter, and fussing over me, and taking care of all three kids, the dog and the house this last month I’ve been on bed rest —“

“I’ll get an IV,” Liam promises him.

“Alright,” Louis says. Max lets out a soft whimper, and he jiggles his arm a bit. “Don't  _you_  start.”

Liam ventures out into the disorienting new world of the hallway. It’s definitely gotten longer since he first walked down it this morning — in his semi-delirious state, he thinks he'd bet a few million dollars on that. He smiles at everyone he passes — new mums and dads with babies in their arms, the nurses at the nurses’ station, random doctors, his own security guards. The world is a beautiful place, he has two perfect sons with Louis. He feels like that song about friends shaking hands saying how do you do.

In the waiting room, Agnes is awake and knitting on the couch next to Lottie, who's fast asleep. On the couch next to them, all three kids are dozing in a cozy pile, tucked under a fleece blanket patterned with snowflakes.

Liam meets Agnes’ eyes, and they both smile.

“Are they here?” she says, putting her knitting down. It looks like she's working on a little baby hat.

“Yeah,” Liam whispers. “Everyone's doing great — Louis, babies. Max is five and a half pounds, Patrick is five even. Their lungs are good, we can take them home whenever we want.”

Agnes claps a hand to her chest. “I'm so glad,” she says. “I prayed the rosary for you.”

“Aww, Agnes, thank you… we really appreciate it.”

She smiles widely at him, dimples appearing in her kind Polish face, then returns to her knitting. Liam doesn't bother waking Lottie, who's been up since they rang her at five in the morning, asking if she could go pick up the kids from Zayn’s. He goes over to his daughter and gently shakes her shoulder until she stirs.

“What?” Sunday says, peering up at him.

“Babies are here,” Liam whispers.

She gasps in excitement and holds her arms up to him for a hug; he picks her up off the couch and spins her around, the both of them laughing like loons.

“Are they okay?” she says.

“They're perfect.” He strokes her hair. “Completely perfect.”

“I wanna see.”

“That's why I came out here, to take you guys.”

Sunday turns and looks at Amir and Mia, who are curled around each other like puppies. Liam sets her down and kneels next to the couch, whispering, “Hey kids.”

Mia sits bolt upright, her blue eyes round. She blinks fast. “Where am I?”

“Shh, love, your aunt’s asleep. We’re in the hospital waiting room.”

“Ohh, right...” She elbows Amir.

Amir yawns and rolls over. He's got hilarious bedhead. “Where's Daddy?” he demands, rubbing at his eyes. “Is Daddy okay?”

“He's fine, kiddo. Want to go see him, meet your brothers?”

“They're here?” Mia says, her face lighting up.

“They're here,” Liam says, smiling at her. “They're perfect.”

Amir squints at him, looking like he might be ornery in his sleepiness. “Do they look like me?”

Liam laughs, then steels himself against the rush of dizziness this causes. “Well,” he says, reaching up and cupping the side of his little jaw in his hand. “It's early to tell much, yet, but I think Patrick has your dad's chin, too.”

Amir gives him a rare smile.

“C’mon.” Liam gets to his feet and extends his hands. “Let's go meet ‘em.”

The girls take his hands, and Amir trails along behind them, trying to smooth down his cowlick in a way that reminds Liam painfully of Zayn.

Back in Louis’ room, a nurse is bending over him. He's got his gown off at the shoulder, and they're conversing quietly.

Louis peeks over her when he hears them come in. “Hullo,” he says, shrugging his gown back up. The nurse steps back. “Hi, kiddos.”

Amir and Mia bolt for him, jumping onto the bed and wrapping their arms around him. He embraces them, laughing. “Careful, Daddy’s a bit banged up.”

“We missed you,” Mia says. “Why does it smell like old people in here?”

Liam laughs and squeezes Sunday’s shoulders. “It's the lavender. I can switch it out for the orange stuff…”

“No Lottie?” Louis says.

Liam shakes his head. “Dead asleep, I didn’t want to wake her.”

He rubs the back of his hand against his nose. “Those chairs are terrible to sleep in,” he mutters.

”She’s fine, Tommo. I’ll go get her later.”

“So is this your partner?” the nurse says to Louis, and he nods. “Hey, Liam, I'm Marie. I’m going to get an IV in you, if you want to sit down here?” She steps back, and gestures behind her to a leather recliner that’s sat next to Louis’ bed.

Liam blinks at it. “Has that been there?” he says, coming over to settle into it.

“No,” Louis says, stroking Amir’s hair absent-mindedly. “I had them bring it in when you left just now. You need to get off your feet.”

“Is he sick?” Sunday says.

“I’m fine, baby,” Liam says, leaning back. Marie extends his arm and starts slapping at his veins. “I’ve just been puking, I need some fluids in me.”

“You're definitely dehydrated,” Marie says. "I can already tell."

“Yeah, I couldn't keep anything down, and I didn't want to keep leaving Louis to puke...”

Louis sighs and shifts under his kids to free his arm so he can reach over and tousle Liam's hair. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, quit apologizing.” Liam notices Sunday still looks concerned, and he beckons her to him, making room for her to climb up next to him in the recliner then wrapping an arm around her.

The IV punctures his arm somewhat painfully. He winces. Marie removes the needle, then flicks the cannula with her finger. “You should be good,” she says. “We’ll keep that in for about an hour. Don't get up, you're a walking liability right now.”

“What were you seeing Louis about?” he says.

Marie slips a blood pressure cuff onto his non-IV arm.

“I've got a bit of mastitis,” Louis whispers. “Not a big deal. Don't worry about it.”

“Does it hurt?”

He very half-heartedly covers his kids’ ears. “Like a bitch. But don't worry about it.”

“He’ll go on antibiotics,” Marie says, pressing her stethoscope to the crook of Liam’s elbow. “It’s common in post-partum men… it should clear up soon. Mr Payne, your blood pressure is a little low?”

“Yeah, 's'normal,” he says with a yawn. “It's usually about one ten over seventy.”

“Okay, good to know.”

“I wanna meet the babies,” Mia says, lifting her head.

Marie slings her stethoscope back around her neck and waves to them as she heads back off into the hall. “Buzz me if you need anything,” she calls.

“Will do.” Liam gingerly gets to his feet, wrapping a hand around the cool metal of his IV stand. “Kids, scooch in next to Sunday?”

They climb off of Louis, clumsily bumping him as they do and making him wince. Liam drags his IV stand over to the bassinet, where the babies are fast asleep. Max lets out a burble when Liam slips his hands underneath him.

He was the first one born, and the first one Liam held. He was near-delirious by then, and the hand Louis had just been squeezing was still throbbing, but the world stopped just like it had for Sunday.

Once Max got quieted down, his eyes sprang open; Liam's face was the first thing he saw. They had a lovely and profound moment together, the chaos around them fading out and Liam's vision going misty.

There was of course only about a half-minute of this before Louis’ epidural wore off and he started demanding that someone shoot him, until Patrick came along only three minutes later, making a sudden happy foursome out of them.

Before they whisked the boys off to check their lungs, the doctors and nurses had left them to have a few moments of bonding together. Liam sat on the edge of the bed so they could trade their sons back and forth, marveling at the miniature perfection of them. They were both so physically miserable and punch-drunk from sleep deprivation, that this combined with their euphoric happiness turned them into hysterical messes.

Mia and Amir squeeze beside Sunday on the chair; Mia accidentally elbows her brother, who complains loudly. They quickly deteriorate into a minor scuffle.

“Kids!” Louis exclaims. “Knock it off! You need to be careful around the babies."

“Sorry,” they chorus.

Cradling Max in his arms, Liam comes back over to them. “Alright,” he says. “Let's have some quiet, so they don't get fussy.”

Amir loudly shushes Mia. She shushes him back.

“Guys!” Sunday exclaims.

Liam settles Max onto his daughter’s lap, adjusting her hands so she's supporting his head. She stares down at him, wide-eyed; he makes a soft squalling noise that peters off.

“He's so small,” she whispers. “Which one is it?”

“This is Max,” Liam says, readjusting his bonnet.

“I want to hold him,” Mia says. She extends a hesitant finger and gently touches his foot. “Can I?”

“Hold on a sec,” Liam says, patting her on the shoulder and returning to the bassinet for Patrick, who gets a bit fussy. Liam untangles his IV line from where it's wrapped around his foot and picks up his son, shushing and cooing to him.

Louis is watching all this from bed with sleepy joy on his face. “Hey Mia,” he says. “D’you remember meeting Amir?”

“No,” she says.

“You poked him in the face, first thing, an’ made him cry.”

“Wow,” Amir scoffs.

“Whatever! I was a baby, I didn't mean it!”

“Oh, wait,” Sunday says, sounding nervous and shoring Max up in her arms. “He's moving. What's he doing?”

“They do that,” Louis says. “You're doing fine, love, I've got an eye on you.”

Patrick lets out one last mewl of protest. Liam kisses him on the head until he quiets, then brings him to Amir and Mia, who both look up at him apprehensively. Liam gives them a reassuring smile and lowers him into their arms, resting Patrick’s head in the crook of Mia’s elbow.

“And this is Patrick,” Liam says softly.

“Hi Patrick,” Amir says. He reaches out and plays with one of his little feet. “Are they gonna start crying?”

“They might,” Louis says. “We’ll take them if they do.”

Mia looks down at Patrick. “What if I drop him?”

“You won't,” Louis says. “Look, Payno, here — give ‘em to me, and the kids can climb up in bed, here? Might be easier.”

“You sure?” Liam says, gripping his IV stand. “You're all sore and sleepy...”

Louis flaps his hand. “I'll live.”

Liam scoops up the babies with a practiced air — he's going to be good at this whole twins thing, he can tell already — and whisks them away so the kids can clamber up onto Louis’ bed. The girls perch at the foot of it, but Amir takes ownership of his father, snuggling hard into his armpit. Louis strokes his dark hair and kisses him on the head.

“Were you worried about me, angel?” he says.

Amir shrugs.

“He totally was,” Mia crows.

“Shut up! So were you!”

Liam settles their babies back into Louis’ arms, one at a time. They both get a bit fussy, probably from all the stimulation, and Louis coos to them. “No no,” he murmurs. “It's all good here. No crying.”

Liam drags the armchair a bit closer to the bed, then drops into it. He's already feeling less lightheaded, but he probably shouldn't push it.

He watches as Sunday comes closer to Louis with wonder in her eyes, then reaches out and touches Patrick’s cheek with a delicate brush of the finger.

Liam glances at Louis, who's already gazing at him with a warm look that makes heat blossom in his chest.

“I love you,” he mouths.

Louis grins. “Love you too,” he says out loud.

 

*

 

**iMessage**

**Saturday**  1:32 AM

 

Louis

_Babies are here !_

 

Niall

_Wonderful ! Congrats lads !!!!!!!!!_

_Hmmmm do I count 5 people in this ?_

 

Louis

_;)_

_ive texted like 100 people in the last hour, too lazy to text zayn separately for this one sorry_

Zayn

_lol_

_Congrats bro_

Harry

_He said lol, but he didn't laugh out loud..._

Zayn

_what are you, the lol police? I smiled_

Niall

_So their names are niall ii and niall iii, right ?_

Louis

_Max & Patrick_

Niall

_Ahh, so close !_

Harry

_Good names_

_Everyone doing well?_

Louis

_I'm doing fine, babies are great, Liam is asleep in a chair next to me_

_Hes had a bad stomach virus, been up for about forty eight hours straight_

Niall

_Jesus_

_my names federal agent Liam Payne and this is the longest day of my life_

Harry

_Zayn just put us on do not disturb_

Louis wonders if this has anything to do with the mention of Liam.

 

Zayn

_harry did that the second it popped up_

Harry

_You know I do that to all my group chats. They're distracting_

Niall

_what are you geezers doing up this late anyway_

Harry

_I had to stay up for a London conference call_

Zayn

_i ate a weird pepper & got heartburn_

Niall

_Absolute geezers_

Louis

_Niall what are you on about ? You go to bed at ten these days_

Niall

_I was waiting on the baby news ! and me and Win got very into a game of scrabble. She says congrats by the way and wants pictures_

Louis

_scrabble ?? Geeeeeezer !_

_(tell her thank you !)_

Niall

_I think it might be time to face the fact that we are all geezers_

Harry

_I’m ageless_

Louis

_31, but ok_

Harry

_Wooooow_

Louis

_:)_

_(Attachment: 1 image)_

_this is Max_

_(Attachment: 1 image)_

_Patrick_

_(Attachment: 1 image)_

_unconscious Liam_

Niall

_Who drew the mustache on him?_

Louis

_That's an original artwork by Mims_

Zayn

_thats my girl_

_you get any pics of our kids meeting them?_

Louis

_Yeah! i took a ton of those . i'll send them separate_

Zayn

_cheers.. my mum asked for that. are they in bed now?_

Louis

_yeah. Agnes took them home, you can pick them back up tomorrow_

Harry

_The babies are really lovely Louis, congrats x_

Louis

_Thanks mate_

Harry

_Can I send flowers to the hospital or should it be straight to your place?_

Louis

_our place is good ! double thanks_

 

Privately, Niall texts Louis,  _Think he's overcompensating with you for the whole zayn thing?_ Louis says back,  _100000% yes, but i'll take it._ His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, then, (trusting Niall to never judge him as being too crass or too petty) he adds, _he’s prob relieved I have a new baby daddy besides his boyfriend honestly_

 _Hahaha true I bet the flowers are for liam_ , Niall says. _thanks for distracting tommo from busting my balls over zayn xxxxxxx H_

Louis chokes back a loud laugh.

Over in the chair, Liam stirs and stretches.

“How you feeling, big boy?” Louis chirps, smiling at him.

“Loads better,” he says cheerfully.

“I should warn you, Mims drew a mustache on you.”

Liam laughs and strokes his upper lip. “Yeah? How's it look?”

“Actually, not too bad.”

“Interesting…”

“No, no. Don't you dare grow one.”

“My ‘usbaaand,” Liam says, in a wretchedly overdone French accent, “‘e says ‘e does not like  _la mustache_ , but ‘e loves when I give him ze mustache rides…”

Louis cackles. “Not in front of the babies!”

“Aww, they're asleep anyhow.”

“C’mere, then.”

Liam obediently climbs up into Louis’ bed with him, wrapping his arms around him. He accidentally elbows him in the chest, and Louis lets out a pained cry.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, babe. You good?”

Louis inhales, swallowing back the salty taste that flooded his mouth. “I'm aces,” he says with difficulty. “Just I hurt so bad, everywhere, and I’m leaky and bleeding and puffy... Feel a bit wrecked, actually.” 

”You need anything?”

”Um...” He reaches over for the Demerol pump that’s hooked up to his IV, and pushes another dose of it. “Just some sleep, I reckon.” 

Liam nuzzles him. Tears dribble down Louis’ cheeks, and Liam kisses them away.

Louis lets out a hiccupy laugh. “Shit, I almost don’t want you near me right now... I’m a mess, I ‘aven’t showered...”

“Know what?” Liam murmurs. “I'm pretty attracted to you, actually.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Louis starts laughing. Liam shuts him up by kissing him on the mouth; they lie back in his hospital bed and have a nice slow snog, stroking each other’s hair and intertwining their fingers.

When they break apart, Louis gazes at him, fielding his intense dark-eyed gaze. “You're mental,” he says. “You really are.”

Liam grins, then reaches down and starts fishing in the pocket of his jeans. Louis’ eyes follow his fingers. His tattooed hand slides back out as a closed fist, clutching something.

“Since we dunno when we’re getting married,” Liam says, glancing up at him. “And, I do realize you're not the type to wear a signet ring around… it was meant more as a gesture. But, since we've got the kids now…”

“Alright, what’ve you got there, Payno?”

Liam opens his hand to reveal two slim, shiny black bands. “Just something to wear so people know we’re engaged,” he says. “Don't want you walking around with two babies and a bare finger.”

He laughs. “Bit old-fashioned of you.”

“I thought you liked it when I was old-fashioned!”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling. “I do.” He takes one of the bands and slips it onto his ring finger. It fits perfectly. “These are really nice, love, thank you...”

Liam leans in and gives him a quick kiss, then puts his own ring on.

Louis worries at his lip with his teeth. “How’d you propose to Cecilia?” he says.

One of the babies starts fussing, then crying loudly. Liam slides off the bed, going to the bassinet and scooping the offending party into his arms.

“Max?” Louis says.

He shakes his head. “Patrick.”

“Ahh, still working on that.”

Liam grins, gazing down at Patrick as he rocks him. “I surprised her,” he murmurs. “We went on our first vacation since the baby, to Florence, and I proposed when we were in a gondola on the Arno River. Gondola bloke was in on it, I gave him the ring to pass to me.”

“Very romantic.”

Liam shrugs. Patrick’s cries tail off, and he burbles softly. “I knew it was what she wanted. Anyway... I just wanted you to know that I want people to know you're mine. And I'm yours.”

Louis watches him with the baby. His eyes are glazing over again; he wants very badly to close them. “Beach,” he says.

Liam glances up at him. “Beach?”

“Yeah. I wanna get married on the beach.”

“So a summer wedding, here?”

“Not necessarily… could be a destination wedding… our family’s’ll have to fly, either way.”

Liam considers this. “Hawaii, maybe?”

Louis smiles. “I like Hawaii.”

“March? The kids have that long spring break in March, it’s like two weeks.”

“Whenever, babe.”

“Okay,” Liam says, nodding. He's got such dark circles under his eyes, it makes Louis want to force him into a bed. “Good. Beach. So we can start planning, then, that's good.”

“Hey... what was your first wedding like?”

Liam looks unsettled at being asked this. He looks back down at Patrick and shifts his lips, not saying anything.

“I’m only curious,” Louis adds. “We never discuss this stuff.”

Liam shrugs. “I sort of thought if you wanted to know what my wedding was like, you would’ve been there.”

Louis is stung badly by this; more and hotter tears leap his eyes as he demands, “‘Scuse us, who are you having a go at right now? Some arsehole off the street, or the guy who just had two of your babies?”

Liam’s face falls. “Oh, Lou, Lou — sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he says, making as if to come back over to him. Louis waves him off, embarrassed. “I just — you know. I assumed you didn’t want to ever hear about it.”

He yanks a tissue out of a box next to him and wipes at his cheeks. “Were you actually upset I wasn’t there? ‘Cos I thought the more polite thing was not to go.”

“Well... Harry was there, Niall was there. It just felt weird that you weren’t. People kept mentioning it to me, and asking if it had anything to do with the song, and I had no idea what to say.”

“Who cares if Harry and Niall were there? You were never in love with Harry or Niall!”

“I know,” Liam says, stroking Patrick’s cheek with his thumb. “I know, okay?”

“Alright,” Louis says, settling back against the pillows.

“And to actually answer your question… it was nice. Extremely expensive. Maybe a bigger to-do than I would’ve liked, actually. But I let Ceci do all the planning.”

“Well, it’s your turn at bat, then, love, ‘cos besides the guest list, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Liam says, glancing up at him with twinkling eyes. “Walk down the aisle to Blink… serve pizza…”

Louis grins. “Is that you making nice with me?”

Liam rocks the baby and grins back at him. “Maybe.”

“Look… I’m sorry I didn’t come. I felt dicky about it at the time. And I did apologize.”

He shakes his head. “No, you were right not to go. And I knew you wouldn’t. I just really missed you, around then… there were all these things I wanted to tell you, or say to you, and every time I went to text you, I, like… remembered what you said, and it stopped me cold. So all we ever ended up talking about was our kids.”

“What’d I say?”

“Huh?”

“What’d you remember I said?”

“Oh. What you said at the Brits.”

“Shit. Right.”

“‘Leave me the fuck alone,’ or whatever.”

Louis’ mouth falls open. “I absolutely did not say ‘leave me the fuck alone’!”

“That was the general gist!”

“Oh, come on! I was more upset with myself that night than I was with you, anyway!”

Max fusses softly in the bassinet, and they both go quiet for a few moments. When the coast is clear, Liam sighs and whispers, “It didn’t feel like it.”

“That so wasn’t at all what I meant,” Louis whispers back. “And I missed you too, you know I did.”

“I do.”

“We shouldn’t talk about these things when we’re this tired and overemotional,” Louis says. “It’s like betting on Madron.”

Liam laughs. “It’s all in the past, anyway.” He comes over and perches on the bed next to him. Patrick makes a soft sound and stretches in his arms; Louis reaches out and runs his finger along the back of his tiny hand. “We’re in the future, now…”

“We’re in the future, lad?” Louis teases.

“Aww, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t get more future than these two.”

“I know I keep saying it, but you did such a great job…” Liam glances up at him, his gaze soulful and sweet. “You’ve been tough as nails about this whole thing.”

“Ah, I reckon they were worth it.”

Liam leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

 

 *

Louis has his surgery the next morning. It’s very minor and quick, snip snip, but he slept so badly the night before that it takes him ages to come out of the anesthesia properly. In the recovery room, Liam has him drink a juice box and talks to him until he’s got his head on straight. 

“How d’you feel?” Liam says, when he’s mostly roused.

Louis takes inventory of himself. ”Tired, mostly."

Liam strokes his head in a soothingly repetitive motion. Louis likes when he does that, even though it’s the same thing he does to the dog and the kids. “You ready to go home and get in bed?”

”God, yeah.”

They check out later in the afternoon. Lottie comes back with Starbucks refreshments and Tommy in tow; coffee and chocolate croissants for Louis, and a plain croissant and water for Liam. Liam takes an hour to pick his way through the croissant, but he manages to keep it down, then pronounces himself cured of all ills.

Historically Louis has found the mandatory post-birth wheelchair to be unpleasantly mollycoddling, but today he’s glad for it. Physically, he feels like he might collapse into a pile of pudding at any moment, and it’s nice to just sit and be pushed around and not expected to hold either of the babies. The halls are empty, and he dozes off briefly as Liam wheels him along.

Liam leaves them at the nurses station as he goes to check with security about whether or not they’re alright to leave, and Louis starts filling out their birth certificates with the clipboard sat in his lap. Lottie bends over the two baby carriers and coos at the twins. Her long hair tickles Max’s face.

Louis shoots her a grin. “They cute?”

“They’re precious!”

“You want one?”

Tommy laughs. “Nice try…”

Louis finishes his paperwork and slides it into the envelope he was given by a nurse. He takes a long, deep breath, staring up into the fluorescents in a Demerol daze. Hazy spots float in his vision until he blinks, and then tears leak out for no reason at all, like he’s an old faucet.

Liam comes back and gives them a thumbs up. “We’re good to go,” he says.

Louis hands him the folder. Liam grabs it and lets it fall open on the counter. His eyes skim over the first page, then stop.

He’s looking at their birth certificates, which say:

NAME OF REGISTRANT  
MAXIMILIAN FOX TOMLINSON-PAYNE

And:

NAME OF REGISTRANT  
PATRICK ROUTLEDGE TOMLINSON-PAYNE

Liam’s mouth falls open. “Aw, Tommo,” he says. “Yeah?”

He looks over at Louis, who smiles at him.

“Sign ‘em quick,” he says, “before I change my mind about Routledge.”

Liam laughs a sweet bark of a laugh that fades into a grin. It lights up his face as he bends over the counter, his pen scratching on the papers.

 

CALABASAS, JUNE 17, 2025

Liam is jarred awake around seven; he’s so used to being woken by the babies that he goes over to check on them, but they’re dozing peacefully in their adjoining cribs.

He realizes, then, that it’s Louis, swearing softly in the walk-in closet. He finds him in there, fighting with the zip on a pair of jeans.

Louis looks up at him and, losing no momentum, holds up two fingers. “Two months,” he says. “Two months after Mims, I was at least back in my regular skinnies.”

“Tommo,” Liam says, laughing. “You were twenty-four! I mean, I’d also love to get back the metabolism I had at twenty-four.”

“Yeah, but what was the point, then?” he exclaims, tearing them off, balling them up and tossing them aside so he’s just standing there in a jumper and boxers. “Of all the jogging?”

“What about after Amir?”

”Well, ‘course not after Amir, I’d just had Mims right before...”

”There you go, then — this time it was twins, y’know?”

“See, I wouldn’t be fussed if it weren’t for this fuckin’ wedding.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’ll look fine at the wedding.”

“I’ll look  _fine_? Wow, don’t lay it on too thick.”

“I meant you’ll look great, love.”

“It’s gonna be their first public outing as a couple, y’know. The debut of Zarold.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Liam comes over to him, then, and wraps his arms around him, kissing him on the side of his neck.

“I’m happy for them, really,” Louis mutters. “But I might be happier if I was at me fighting weight, and you were a supermodel.”

Liam slips a hand into his boxers and gropes his arse. “I can try to sign with Victoria’s Secret at some point in the next two days, if that’d help?”

Louis chuckles.

“I think I’d look good in them wings.”

“You would, I agree. Less so in the bras.”

Liam squeezes his arsecheek again. “You’re just a bit curvier, ‘s’all,” he murmurs in his ear.

”Listen, you know I love this about you, but I really think you’d still wanna fuck me if I had a third leg growin’ out of me head.”

”I mean, _that_ might be a bit of a turn-off, honestly, just ‘cos of the logistics of it all. But, look... I love your daddy body so much. I love that you made our sons. That’s so fuckin’ cool, that you did that. I’m even more in love with you now just from how incredible that was.” 

Louis sags against him with a little laugh that trails off into a sigh. “Payno,” he says gently. 

Liam slips his arms around him, encircling him, and full-body squeezes him like he’s a boa constrictor, pressing his nose to the crook of Louis’ neck. He presses each palm to the little commas of weight that have remained on Louis’ hips, stroking his thumb over the bare skin where his t-shirt has ridden up. “I’ll kiss all this insecurity nonsense out of you,” he threatens. “Kiss every inch of you. Kiss your toes.”

Louis starts laughing appreciatively.

Liam kisses him again, then takes him by the shoulders and steers him out of the closet, back into their room. Louis protests softly before giving up and allowing himself to be steered.

Liam stops them in front of the cribs and gestures to their sleeping boys. “Look.”

The cribs lay end to end along the wall beside their bed, and in them, each of the twins lay swaddled and happily dozing. They’ve started swaddling them with one arm out, and Liam notices from Max’s visible little sleeve that Louis had put him to bed in one of the many Rovers onesies they got as a baby gift. They all say TOMLINSON-PAYNE in the back, squeezed onto the tiny stretch of fabric in the smallest print possible.

Mia complained, when these arrived — “Why haven’t  _I_  got a jersey? I actually play, and they’re just babies!” so Louis sent the team manager a sheepish email thanking him and asking him if the jersey maker could possibly print one up in a girls’ small? And then Sunday asked if she could get a Rovers horse blanket, which had sent Louis on a mad telephone journey, trying to reason with the jersey manufacturer (“What's so odd about asking for a horse blanket, mate, seriously?” Liam at one point heard him exclaiming from the other room). In the end, he managed to get her one.

Sunday had hugged Louis when it arrived, chirping a thank you, and he’d beamed at her, clearly delighted. It was such a purely sweet moment that Liam got briefly teary-eyed.

Liam releases Louis’ shoulders, and they stand there gazing at the babies, studying their curled-up little hands and rosy faces, the butterfly-thin skin of their eyelids and snub baby noses.

“They’re something, aren’t they?” Louis says. He leans over the side of Max’s crib; Max makes a soft noise, and Louis picks him up, cradling him to his shoulder and murmuring baby talk. He presses his nose to Max’s downy head.

“They’re perfect,” Liam says, gazing at the pair of them. 

Louis grins. He leans down, settling the baby back into his crib. 

“You want to get some bottoms on?” Liam suggests, and pinches him on the bum.

“Why?” Louis says, bemused.

“‘Cos it’s your turn to wake the kids up for school, and we can’t keep sleeping in and having Agnes take them, it makes me feel like we’re the Cobains.”

“Do they even have school, today?”

“Yeah, it’s Tuesday.” Liam suddenly doubts himself. “‘Least I’m pretty sure. Right? I put the bins out yesterday, so that was definitely Monday…”

“Christ.” Louis rubs his hand over his face. “I’d love to go back to us reliably knowing what day of the week it is.”

Patrick wriggles and fusses; they both pause. He quiets down, and they breathe silent sighs of relief.

“Joggers,” Louis mutters, shrugging out of Liam’s arms and walking over the pile of clean clothes he made on the floor the other day (by overturning an entire laundry basket while screaming, “Who invented drawers? I don’t have time for fuckin’ drawers!”) to dig through it.

Liam stares blearily at him. “If I went back to sleep right now,” he says, “how many minutes do you think I could get before we have to leave?”

“Probably about twenty,” Louis says.

Liam immediately turns and heads back to bed, climbing under the covers. “Sweet, I’ll take it.”

*

 

Zayn had expected Harry would be gone for the entire afternoon, so when his bedroom door swings open at 3 p.m., he’s so startled he burns his lip on his vape.

“Fuck,” he says, tugging the sheet over himself. “Weren’t you out?”

Harry comes over to the bed, tossing three garment bags onto it. “I was. Now I'm in. Why are you naked?”

He shrugs. “Was jerking off.”

“You were smoking weed…”

“Vaping.”

“Vaping weed, jerking off, and listening to…” Harry tilts his head. “My Brubeck record? Is this what you do when I'm not around?”

Zayn laughs. “Only listening to it ‘cos it was in the player. Where’d you go?”

“Bijan.” Harry crawls across the bed and kisses him. “And the dermo.”

Zayn pulls back and studies him. “You’re all pink, what’d they do to you?”

“Oh, you know,” Harry drawls, shrugging out of his jacket. “Got some snail placenta injected into my face.”

Zayn squints at him, and he laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says. “Why does everyone take me so seriously these days?”

“I was just wondering what a snail placenta’d look like.”

“Probably more disgusting than a regular one.”

“That’s what I was thinking. But I think snails lay eggs?” Zayn reaches for his phone.

“Don’t look that up, please,” Harry says. “There are some things in life that ought to remain a mystery.”

Zayn laughs, withdrawing his hand. “Alright.”

“I just got some microdermabrasion.” Harry settles next to him and unzips one of the garment bags. “This is for you… A different option for Niall’s wedding. If you like it, that is. If not, no worries.”

“Really?” Zayn says, surprised. “You shop for me now?”

Harry arches a neat eyebrow. “Should I not?”

“No, I just didn’t know you knew my measurements.”

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t know your measurements? I reckoned you’d want it taken in a bit either way, I just wanted you to try it first.” He plays with the zipper.

“You seem a bit wound up about this wedding,” Zayn says.

Harry glances up at him. “Well, it’s the first time you and I’ll be photographed together, is all.”

“I think we spent five years getting photographed together, mate.”

“As a  _couple_ , alright? I think people are gonna be a bit surprised by this.”

“Not anyone who reads TMZ,” Zayn says. They had been papped together at a small party a few weeks ago; first them in a sort of intimate embrace, then them snogging. The photos were grainy, but relatively unmistakable. Zayn was almost relieved when it happened — he’d been walking around with his arsehole clenched wondering how people would react, but the blowback has yet to gather on the horizon. One Direction has fallen out of the zeitgeist enough to cushion their landing, apparently.

“Making it official’s different. For all people knew, we were just fucking.”

“That’s fair.”

“And it’s my, y’know.” Harry gestures mock-grandly. “My return to the public eye since the divorce.”

Zayn offers him the vape.

Harry laughs. “I’m not  _that_  wound up. So…” He runs his hand along Zayn’s thigh. “How long ago did you jerk off?”

Zayn grins. “I could go again.”

“Perfect.” Harry leans in and kisses him again, biting his lip. “I’ve got about an hour, and then I have to run out again. Got an appointment.”

He sighs, letting Harry maneuver him back against the bed. “Why’re you so busy all the time?”

Harry gives him a crooked smile. “‘Cos I like to be. Now fuck me.”

 

WINTON CASTLE, JUNE 20, 2025

Niall and Winnie’s wedding is a lot like them — intimate chaos, put on with plenty of panache but no airs whatsoever. The ceremony is quick for a Catholic one, with plenty of jokes even from the priest, who went to school with Winnie where she grew up in the Highlands. When it's over, they all file out of the castle and trudge through the mud up the hill in their pinchy dress shoes, heading for the massive white tents set up for the reception.

Louis and Liam had left the twins with Karen and Geoff and drove off at six in the morning into the dreary fog to go catch their flight to Scotland. They’ve never left them for this long before, and it’s made Louis a bit of a wreck. He keeps seeking out and grabbing onto Mia and Amir like they're human life vests.

Liam spent most of the afternoon imploring him to chill out, but no longer had a leg to stand on after Louis caught him sneaking a text to his mum of “ _how are they doing?_ ” literally as Niall was getting out his eyeglasses to read his vows with.

The reception gets boozy fast. When it’s time for toasts, Louis goes fifth and last, and he gets a lot of laughs; but two kegs have already been tapped by then, so he's not sure how sincere it is. He probably could have gone up and done armpit farts into the microphone and got the same response.

When dinner is winding down, and the dancing has kicked off (with the first dance being a rowdy rendition of  _Boys of Summer_ sung by Hozier, who’s serving as the musical entertainment for the evening) a sweaty and breathless Niall and Winnie make their way back to Louis and Liam’s table. Zayn and Harry are sat across from them, as well as Lou and Lottie, which means everyone keep referring to it as the One Direction table.

“Hello, hello,” Niall and Winnie chorus.

They all chorus back congratulations and hellos. The table’s been abandoned by everyone except the band, members past and present — Lou and Lottie, their husbands, and the kids have all gone off to dance. If he cranes his neck and squints past a few tables, Louis can see Mia dancing on Bressie’s feet.

“How's married life?” Liam says. He's got his arm slung around the back of Louis’ chair, and occasionally stroking the back of his neck.

“Well,” Niall says, considering Winnie, who grins back at him. “The forty-five minutes we've had so far haven't been bad.”

“No, rather agreeable,” Winnie says. She looks lovely, today, with her hair tied back in an elaborate braid. She's been married once before, so her dress isn't white, but instead a sort of gray lilac that flatters her freckled complexion and matches Niall’s boutineer. “Might keep this one around.”

Louis settles his head against Liam’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a brief moment, and immediately receives an exclamation of “Oi!” from Niall.

“What?” he says irritably, lifting his head.

“Don't fall asleep at my wedding!” Niall exclaims. “Either of you!”

“Lad,” Louis says, “I’m here, I'm in trousers, and I'm upright. Do you know how unusual that is, these days? D’you know how much of a testament to my love for you this is?”

Niall grins like a schoolboy. “Alright, alright...”

A few people squeeze by, then, and it turns into a chaotic traffic jam of drunken congratulations and effusive thank yous from the happy couple. In the midst of all this, Nick comes barreling through.

“Hey,” he says, leaning hard on one of the burnished wooden poles that's holding the tent up. “What is this, then, the One Direction table?”

Zayn tosses his napkin off his lap onto the table. “Apparently.”

Harry glances over at him, grinning.

“So  _surly_ , this one,” Nick says. Niall and Winnie’s friends disperse, heading back to the crowded dance floor, and he slips in and corrals them in a hug. “Aww, look at you two…”

Amir ducks out of the crowd and comes over to them, leaning against Zayn, who wraps his arm around him. He's a miniature of his dad in his little tux; he looks so grown-up and handsome. Between the sleep deprivation and leftover hormones, Louis could cry just from looking at him.

“I'm bored,” Amir complains. “I'm tired of dancing.”

Zayn tousles his hair. “Have a seat, then.”

Nick releases Niall and Winnie, turning back to the table. Niall catches Louis’ eye and does some pantomime to indicate that Nick reeks of booze. Louis laughs.

“Funny to see you four at the same table,” Nick says, turning back to them. “The times, they are a-changin’.”

Liam’s hand returns, possessively, to the back of Louis’ neck. “We’re all old friends here,” he says lightly.

“Not for a while, you weren't,” Nick slurs. “D’you remember, Harry — there was a time I thought you'd never be in the same room with these two again.” He indicates Zayn and Louis.

“I don't recall,” Harry says, glancing sidelong at Amir, who's listening to all of this with mild curiosity.

“No, no. You threw a complete  _shitfit_ , when I interviewed them right after they got married,” Nick says, listing to starboard slightly. Niall grabs him by the bicep so he doesn't fall over. “Rang me up screaming, like, ‘who do you think you are, what kind of best mate does that’ —”

“Thanks, Nick,” Harry says loudly, “why don't you go somewhere else and drink some more, please? ‘Cos I don't think you drank enough yet.”

Nick laughs and gives him the finger.

“Wait, me and Louis did an interview with you?” Zayn says, slipping a reassuring arm around Harry’s shoulders and squinting at Nick.

“Yeah, mate, around Christmastime,” Louis says.

“I don't remember that at all.”

“Well, you were quite the drunk back then,” Nick says, grinning.

This lands with a powerful thud. Harry (looking murderous) gets up, takes him by the arm and drags him off in a rather slapstick manner that would be funny if the situation weren't so awkward.

Winnie starts laughing. “I knew those kegs’d end up causin’ some trouble,” she says lightly.

“You know Nick just likes to hear himself talk, right?” Zayn says to Amir, who flicks his amber eyes up at him and shrugs.

Harry returns, Nickless. “Sorry about that,” he says to no one in particular, sitting back down.

“Really pulling his punches, tonight,” Liam jokes.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I know. He's always been a nightmare at weddings... Couldn't begin to tell you why.”

“So tell me about your bairns!” Winnie says to Liam and Louis, clearly desperate for a topic change. “I want pictures, all of it.”

“Oh, I am the pictures man, Winn,” Liam says with a twinkle in his eye. “I have an album with, like, fifty subfolders. Got that new phone that's got a terabyte of storage, so.”

“Madman,” Louis says fondly. “Absolute madman.”

Liam laughs, scrolls through his phone and hands it to Winnie.

“Oh, they’re little angels,” she exclaims. “They sleepin’ through the night yet?”

Liam and Louis look at each other and laugh heartily.

“Not quite, no,” Louis tells her.

“Poor lads,” Winnie says. She hands the phone to Niall, who lights up.

“Ohh,” he says softly. “Look at ‘em… look at them smilin’...”

“They’re really, really smiley,” Louis says, beaming with pride. “Smile at each other, even.”

Niall claps his hand to his chest at this, like Louis has shot him. “And look at the matching hats…” He nudges his wife with his elbow.

“This one can't stop hinting tae me,” she says. “Babies, babies, babies, he's got the fever.”

Niall grins. “How attached are you to these?” he says. “Can you spare one?”

“Pretty attached, sorry mate,” Liam says.

“If we’re stealin’ a baby, I want Amir,” Winnie says, smiling at him. “What a doll in his little suit... I could eat him up.”

They all glance over at Amir, who snuggles more insistently against Zayn and narrows his eyes. “Don’t  _eat_  me,” he says.

Everyone chuckles, and Zayn gently pinches Amir’s cheek.

Across the dance floor, they hear Hozier shout into the microphone, “Are we drunk enough yet for some Wild Rover?” Cheers go up, and all around them people start deserting their tables to head to the already packed dance floor.

“You two don't want to get back to the action?” Harry says.

Niall laughs. “Why, so me cousins can elbow me in the head and spill beer all over me some more? Nah, we’ll go back when it's died down a bit.”

Winnie hands Liam his phone back. “Anyway, they’re precious,” she says. “Wait, so’s Niall the last one of you that hasn't got kids?”

Louis flicks his gaze over at Harry, who shifts in his seat. He's got a strange look on his face, suddenly. “No,” he says. “Not me, either.”

A second awkward silence descends. Zayn examines his nails, and Harry polishes off a flute of champagne.

“We should go check on our parents, make sure they're still conscious,” Winnie says to Niall, and he gallantly offers his arm to her. “Thanks again for coming, loves!” she calls over her shoulder. “And for the gifts!”

They chorus ‘you're welcome’s after them.

“What did you lot get them?” Liam says to Harry.

“Two seats on the next SpaceX trip around the moon,” Harry says, like it's nothing.

Liam and Louis exchange a bemused grimace.

“Shit,” Louis says. “Well, that beats us.”

“What’d you get them?”

“Like five things off their registry, and donations to their favorite charities,” Liam says. “And, uh, golf clubs.”

Amir, still snuggled into Zayn’s armpit, pipes up, “Dad and Liam? Can I do what Theo did, when you have your wedding?”

Zayn, who's been stroking his hair, stills.

“You mean be our ring bearer?” Louis says, feeling touched. He didn't think Amir even cared they were getting married. “Of course, love.”

It's obvious Zayn is trying very hard not to react to this. His eyes darken, and his jaw freezes. Louis feels terrible, then, but he's at a loss as to what he could say to make this less hard on him. Maybe that isn't even possible. His own darling son, his mini-me, participating in the enemy wedding.

“I think I need another drink,” Harry says, getting to his feet. “Anyone?”

“I'll have another club soda,” Zayn says. “Actually, hang on, I'll go with you.”

He gives Amir one last kiss on the head, then sends him off to Louis, who welcomes him onto his lap as he watches Zayn walk away.

Louis turns to Liam, wanting to share a “did you notice that weirdness?” eyebrow lift with him, but he’s dozed off in his chair. “Liam.”

Liam jerks himself awake. “Wazzat?”

Louis rests his cheek on the top of Amir’s head and flags down the nearest waiter. “You want another cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, good idea.”

 

*

 

Zayn and Harry sidle up to the end of the bar that no one else is at, and one of the three bartenders immediately drops what he's doing and hurries over to them — the benefits of Harry-level celebrity. “What can I get you?”

“A glass of Merlot, and a tonic water on ice, please,” Harry says

The bartender nods, turning on his heel to go fetch the wine out of one of the coolers that’s propped against a tentpole. Zayn nudges Harry. “What's up?” he whispers. “You've been weird all day.”

Harry presses the tip of his thumb into the trigger point under his left brow bone. He must have a headache. “Not here,” he whispers back. “Let's go outside.”

They get their drinks and duck out of one of the flaps in the tent. Outside, the sun is setting gorgeously over the rolling Scottish hills around them, casting harsh shadows and bathing everything in orange light.

Harry clumsily sinks into the damp grass, spilling a bit of Merlot out of the glass and onto his hand. It clings to his skin in dark dribbles, like watery blood.

Zayn sits next to him, despite not really wanting to get the arse of his suit wet.

“It's not what Nick said, is it?” he says.

Harry laughs. “No, he was just talking shit. I didn't care, I just didn't want your son hearing it.”

Zayn sips his drink, wrinkling his nose when the bubbles fizz in his sinuses. “Alright, so…”

There's shouting and laughter from inside the tent. Harry runs his hand slowly through his hair, his brow furrowed. “I really don't want to tell you this,” he says. “Not today, especially.”

Zayn’s pulse quickens unpleasantly. “Now you really have to tell me.”

“Why?”

“ _Why_? ‘Cos you're making it sound like you're dying.”

Harry laughs again. He looks lovely in the dusky light. “Always the absolute worst case scenario with you, isn’t it?”

“Then…”

He takes another sip of his wine and staggers to his feet. “Let's go for a walk, actually,” he says, offering his hand to Zayn. “There's a little creek that runs behind the castle…”

“You want to go walk in a creek?”

“ _Along_  a creek. C’mon.”

Zayn gets up, brushing off his arse. They start ambling away from the tents.

“So,” Harry says.

Zayn glances over at him. He's got his hands in his pockets, and he's squinting at the horizon.

“When I’m doing a film, especially if I’m going to be doing stunts and things, I usually get a physical before we start,” he says.

“Right...”

“And I went last December, for the movie I've been doing. A few weeks before Christmas.”

“Okay…”

“And my regular doctor gave my bloodwork back and said my testosterone was a bit high, for an omega, and I should talk to my gyno.”

Zayn inhales. “And?”

Harry shrugs. “I put it off. I knew it had to be bad news, and I just put it out of my head. I mean, I had so much to deal with, then. And it was just this fluke she happened to catch it… usually they aren’t even looking for that sort of thing…”

“So…”

“So… remember my appointment the other day?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. I went. And she said the testosterone thing was right, and I’ve lost a lot of eggs over the last decade.” His low voice grows softer and softer. “More than’s normal. That I should think about freezing some, right away.”

“Wait, so, like —”

“She said it might be tough for me to get pregnant on my own… or stay pregnant.”

His heart goes into his shoes, then. “Christ...”

Harry stops, and Zayn stops too. “I didn't want to tell you,” he says. His eyes are sparkling with tears. “It's heavy shit, and we’re still just having fun, y’know?”

Zayn hands him his handkerchief. Harry laughs and dabs at his eyes. “I'm actually not crying,” he says. “I think there's ragweed out here...”

Zayn clears his throat, then says huskily, “I'm fairly serious about you. I like to think that goes both ways.”

Harry sniffs. “You know it does.”

“Then I don't understand why you didn't want to tell me this.”

“Oh, c’mon…” He looks off into the distance, over Zayn’s shoulder. “We’ve only been together a few months, y’know?”

“More like a year.”

“I don't count when I was married.”

“Alright,” Zayn says, even though this makes very little sense to him.

Harry glances back at Zayn. His eyes are getting bloodshot, and it makes his irises appear yellow-green, like a cat’s. “Just, y’know. Me talking about kids this fast? I thought you'd panic.”

He laughs. “Give me some credit.”

“I am!  _I'd_  panic.”

“Look, I’ve got more experience in this department than you have. And Louis didn't exactly give me a choice about becoming a dad.”

“I swear, I’m not thinking about us having kids, yet. I mean, it's so soon.”

Zayn runs his tongue along his teeth. He's got that familiar feeling in his chest, the lurching impulsion, the need to just open his mouth and let whatever’s in his head leap out. “I am, though,” he says. “I'm thinking about kids with you. I'm thinking about everythin’ with you.”

Harry’s face softens, and he stares at him for a long moment. A wind comes across the hills, whipping his hair around.

“Not  _right_  now,” Zayn says. “But, y’know… I'm thinking about it.”

Harry sniffs again and looks away, off into the distance. “It might be really hard,” he says. “It might be this awful heartbreaking thing. It might never happen for me, it might be smarter to not even try. You already have kids, so I understand if you, like, don't want to get dragged into this with me.”

“I want what you want. I know how much you’ve wanted this. And there's options… usin’ your sperm with a donor egg, or adoption...”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs. “I did want to adopt, either way.” He pauses, then says, “You’ve really thought about doing this with me?”

He shrugs. “I've been thinking about it since I was eighteen.”

“Don't say shit like that,” Harry says with difficulty. “Don't make me think about what we should’ve had.”

“I didn't mean to.”

“I just can't believe I might’ve missed the boat on this. I never even stopped to think about  _me_ being the reason it didn't happen.”

Zayn wraps his arms around him, pressing kisses to his freshly-shaved neck and jaw. “It's really gonna be alright, I promise.”

Harry sighs. “I hate that I even told you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re having fun, still! And I like having fun. We've only just gotten out from under my divorce… just ‘cos there's this sudden dagger over my head, doesn't mean there has to be one over yours.”

Zayn takes Harry’s face in his hands. Harry stares down at him, his large eyes glassy. "Look,” he says. “I had a chance, before, at being serious and responsible, and I fucked it up. I fucked it up really badly. Actually, twice. I fucked up my engagement, and I fucked up my marriage. I had my fun, already. Letting me do right by you is the best gift you could give me.”

“God,” Harry moans, “you look so serious right now…”

Zayn laughs. “I am, bro! I am serious! Sorry!”

“I just wanted to come be happy for Niall, and dance and laugh and see our friends…”

Zayn pats him on the cheek. “Let’s put it out of our heads for now, then. We’ll go back, do some dancing and laughing.”

Harry nods. “Alright.”

“You feel better, at all?”

“I do, actually. So thank you for that.”

“‘Course.”

He grins. “You know what this means, though, right, if I can’t have a baby?”

“What?” Zayn says, a bit terrified.

“I need to EGOT by forty.”

“Christ, Harold…”

Harry does jazz hands at him, laughing. Zayn slings an arm around him, and they heads back to the tents together.

 

*

By nine, the kegs are all tapped and Louis has to go up to the bar for a refill. He elbows through the boisterous crowd until he hits barwood, shouts his order over the noise and then glances to his left to see Nick.

“Hey there,” he says. “You sobered up at all?”

Nick lifts his mug. “Hi Tomlinson. Working on it. You drinking tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Happy to get back to it?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“How’ve you been?”

The bartender slides Louis his beer, and he picks it up and sits, swiveling to Nick. “I’ve been alright. How’re you?”

A group of girls right next to them erupts into shrieks of laughter; Nick waits for this to die down before he says, “I’m not much for weddings.”

“Aw, really? I quite like them.”

“I might be getting old.” He grimaces and sips his coffee. “Just makes me think maybe I should’ve done all this already.”

“It’s not for everyone.”

“Oh, that’s what you people always say,” Nick scoffs. “And you never quite sound like you actually believe it.”

“You people? What, people with kids?”

“Not necessarily. The settled, the committed. The domesticated.”

“You’re making me sound quite boring.”

“You always wanted this,” Nick says, smiling. “Some people just do. I remember you young… always the serial monogamist, always loved kids.”

“Yeah, well, I got more than I bargained for, with that.”

“How many’d you want?”

“Two. So, five’s an alright compromise, then,” he jokes.

Nick squints. “Not five, is it? Isn’t one of those just Liam’s?”

“She’s my stepkid, she’s enough mine,” Louis says.

“Testy.”

“It’s just her mum sort of ran out on her, that’s all.”

“What, and you fancy yourself the replacement?”

“Shut it,” Louis warns him mildly. “No. I just count her, that’s all.”

He’s still a bit defensive when it comes to Sunday, sometimes. Liam’s gotten much better about things since their own babies arrived, though. It's like the blood tie between all of them cemented things in his mind. 

Nick snakes out his hand and toasts Louis’ beer. “Well, to Niall and Winnie.”

“To Niall and Winnie,” Louis echoes, downing a sip.

Nick looks sidelong at him. “You know, you’re actually looking quite fuckable tonight.”

His lips quirk up in amusement. “‘Actually’?”

“Oh, don’t be sensitive, you know what I meant, you’ve just had triplets or whatever. Take the compliment.”

Louis snorts. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

“I never tried to fuck you,” Nick explains to him in the deeply sincere way of a drunk person, “‘cos Harry would have murdered me for it, and you had that girlfriend of yours for ages… but I thought about it. You’ve got a very fuckable quality to you.”

“Cheers, good to know.”

“I just wanted you to know. In case you took it personally that I never went there.”

Louis wipes some foam off his lip with his thumb, stifling a chuckle. He’s secretly flattered, though, and bit pleased. “Can’t say that I did, but thanks for clarifying.”

“Anytime.”

“Where’s your boyfriend, by the way?”

“Huh?”

“The bloke you talked about at the Christmas party.”

“What, Francis? Francis is long gone. Loud chewer.”

Louis huffs out a small, knowing sigh.

“Sorry, your highness,” Nick says, “we can’t all find someone as marriageable as the rap prince of Wolverhampton.”

“Hey. Leave my boy alone.”

“I say this with love, you know.”

Louis stuffs some cash into the tip jar, then pats Nick’s shoulder as he heads off. “I know you do. Enjoy your coffee.”

It’s as slow going back to the table as it was on his way to the bar, and he bumps into his and Niall’s friend Dave, delaying him further as Louis mops his spilled beer off of the both of them and tries to catch up with him over the din inside the tent.

When he finally makes it back to their table, he picks up on a fragment of conversation from Harry that sounds like “did coke off Selena Gomez’s tits”, which makes his eyebrows shoot up as he settles back down next to Liam.

“Sorry, _what_?” he cuts in.

Zayn is looking at Harry in just as much surprise. Harry, meanwhile, is clearly drunk and has a belligerently unapologetic look. Neither of them acknowledge Louis.

“How’d you even hear about that?” Zayn exclaims.

Liam starts laughing, then leans over to Louis. “I think they’ve forgotten we're here,” he whispers in his ear.

“If you think there’s _anything_ you did in the last ten years that I didn’t eventually hear about,” Harry says, gesturing with his wine glass, “I don't think you realize how many people we've got in common.”

“When did you do coke off Selena’s tits?” Louis says, loudly enough that they finally both look over.

Zayn looks uncomfortably caught out. “Long time ago,” he says.

“Yeah?”

Zayn runs his tongue between his teeth. “Right after I left the band,” he says.

Louis drinks more of his beer. “Oh,” he says, “so when I was pregnant with our daughter, that’s what you were up to?”

Zayn smiles wryly. “You wanna go _there_ , mate? ‘Cos I don’t really think you do.”

Beside him, Liam has gone completely still, like Zayn is a predator who hunts by movement alone.

Louis smiles back, knowing he's got a point. Liam isn't even the only person he slept with when he was pregnant. (The lonely, restless boy he was back then is so foreign to him now.)

“You’re right,” he says. “I don’t. What are you two even arguing about?”

Harry hiccups. “Who’s sluttier,” he says.

“Oh, that’s always fun.”

“I think Harry wins,” Liam says. “But moreso by the numbers.”

“Yeah, so we got into like, specific things we’ve done,” Harry says. “Which is when you came back.”

“Good timing, actually,” Zayn says. “‘Cos someone really should put an end to this.”

Louis laughs. “Wait, so I’m sorry, d’you _want_ to win or no?”

“I’m conflicted,” Harry slurs. “Between my competitive nature and my British sense of propriety. But I agree, I think Zayn’s done freakier things than I have.”

Zayn shakes his head.

“Liam, be an impartial judge," Harry says.

Liam puts his hands in the air. “No thanks.”

“What, ‘cos I came back?” Louis says, grinning at him.

“I just don’t think this is necessary,” Liam says smoothly, but it’s clear the answer is yes, he’s trying to spare Louis hearing this discussion.

“I agree,” Zayn says, glancing around like he’s worried the kids will come back to the table.

But Paul walks past them, then, looking like a posh brick wall in his suit. He stops and gives them a double take, then leans on the back of Lou’s empty chair. “Hey there!” he says. “What’s going on, boys?”

Zayn looks a bit stricken, and Harry cracks up.

“These two are arguing over who’s sluttier,” Louis tells him matter-of-factly, indicating them with a lazy finger.

Paul seems to actually consider this for a few long moments. “Zayn,” he says with a wink, then continues on his way.

Liam and Louis dissolve into wheezes of laughter. Zayn’s mouth is hanging open.

“There you have it,” Harry says. “From an expert."

Zayn shakes his head. “Fucking biased beyond belief,” he mutters, but he looks like he’s trying not to smile. Harry grins and slips an arm over his shoulder, gently squeezing the back of his neck.

 

*

 

“D’you have anything nonalcoholic that’s, like, not boring?” Zayn asks one of the barmen once he finally gets his attention. “Any mocktails?”

The reception has worn on for about six long hours by then — the guests are all absolutely soused, and the tip jar is stuffed to the brim, which might account for the bartender giving him a blasè shrug and going, “I can make you a Shirley Temple.”

Zayn stares at him. “You serious, mate?”

He spreads his hands, stone-faced.

“Fine, just a ginger ale, then.”

Someone breaks away from the dance floor and sidles up next to him. Zayn glances over. It’s Niall.

“Oi, you,” Zayn says. “I congratulate you yet?”

“I think you did, but I’ll take another,” Niall says, grinning.

Zayn pats him on the back. “Congrats, bro.”

“Thanks. And thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, ‘course. So where’s the honeymoon gonna be?”

“Iceland,” Niall says bracingly. “We’re gonna hike all over Iceland.”

“You’re gonna climb freezing mountains for your honeymoon?”

“Yeah, we love that shit. Hike all day, nobody but us, come home and eat bread in front of a fire.”

Zayn laughs. “Hey, whatever you’re into.”

The bartender sort of blithely shoots Zayn’s ginger ale to him from across the bar. Niall’s eyebrows go up.

“I think they’re about ready to pack it in, your boys here,” Zayn says, taking a sip.

“They can’t be!” Niall exclaims. “This thing’ll go on ‘til three or four at least. I think there’s a shift change, soon, though.”

“Good, I was about to call the HSE on you.”

Niall laughs. “Can I get a beer?” he calls across the bar. “Whatever you’re not out of? Thanks, lads.” He glances at Zayn. “When were you thinking of leaving?”

Zayn shrugs. “I’ll stay as long as Harry wants to. Kids are Louis’ responsibility, this weekend.”

“Good,” Niall says. “I hate that we’re at that age now where everyone leaves before midnight.”

“Wait ‘til you’ve got kids, you’ll join that club real fast.”

Niall laughs. “Dead man walking, me.”

“Nah, I think you’ll like being married,” Zayn says.

The bartender hands Niall his beer, and he takes a sip. “Did you?”

Zayn, surprised by the question, is quiet for a few beats. He flashes on his happy times with Louis — building a pillow fort with the kids on a rainy afternoon, then smoking weed in it after they put them to bed; going to parties as a couple, making eye contact across the room and smiling in a way that meant they’d fuck later; how happy Louis was right after they got married, before their son was born, when it seemed like he believed for the first time that Zayn was really his; lazy Sunday mornings in bed; taking the kids and the dog to the beach; grocery shopping; Louis waking him up by murmuring tender nothings in his ear.

But then — screaming, throwing things, punching walls. The silence of the house after they fought, like a tomb. The resentment, the pressure, the whirling dark vortex of alcoholism. The suffocation.

“Yeah,” he says. “It was nice, for a while there.”

Behind them, a pair of couples stagger drunkenly off the still-crowded dance floor and bump into them, then start apologizing to Niall and congratulating him.

Niall takes this all very modestly. When they’ve staggered away, he says, “Somethin’ I wanted to talk to you about.”

He sounds serious. Zayn stirs his ginger ale, just to have something to do. “Yeah?”

Microphone feedback cuts through the air — Hozier is returning from the dance floor and climbing onstage to rejoin his band, who had been playing soft bossa nova in his absence. “Who’s ready for a fast one?” he shouts. Loud cheers go up.

“Yeah,” Niall shouts above the din. “Harry, actually.”

“Right.”

He leans into Zayn’s space, stinking of beer. “I just want you to take care of him. That’s all.”

“I will,” Zayn says, staring him dead in the face. “I have been.”

Niall’s blue eyes grow flinty. “‘Cos if you pull some shit like you did with Louis…”

“What?”

Niall seems to struggle for what to say. Finally, he tipsily swears, “I’ll hit you.”

Zayn laughs. “You’ll hit me?”

“I’ll hit you.”

“You won’t hit me.”

“Hey,” Niall says, setting his beer down with a hard thunk and raising his fists. “I’ll do it. I’m a pacifist, but I’ll do it.”

“Fine. Let’s shake on it.”

“Huh?”

Zayn puts his hand out. “Shake. I break Harry’s heart, you can hit me. It’s a deal.”

Niall shakes his hand rather dubiously. “It’s not binding,” he slurs. “We need a witness.”

Zayn turns and scans around them for a familiar face; he spots Nick Grimshaw sitting at a nearby table, talking to a few people. “Oi, dickhead.”

Nick glances up and squints. “You talking to me?” he shouts over the music.

“Yeah, who else?”

Fiona, sitting next to him, has a good laugh at this. Nick rolls his eyes and comes over to them. He’s absolutely disheveled; his tie is loose around his neck, and his hair is standing nearly on end. “What d’you two want?”

“I want a witness that Zayn said if he breaks Harry’s heart, I can hit him,” Niall explains.

Nick looks annoyed. “If anyone should hit him for breaking Harry’s heart, it’s  _me_.”

“Shit,” Niall says, pointing at him. “That’s fair.”

“We both hit him, then,” Nick suggests.

“Hang on, I signed up for one slug, not to get my arse thumped,” Zayn says.

“We’ll hit you once, an’ at the same time,” Niall suggests.

He sighs. “Fine, just not in the face, alright? Anywhere but my face.”

“Oh, so right in the boys, then?” Nick says.

“Anywhere but my face  _or_  balls.”

Mia comes bouncing up to them at the tail end of this sentence, but luckily seems to have processed none of what she heard. “Water?” she says.

Zayn hands her his ginger ale. She’s very pink in the face from dancing, and her dark hair is mussed. “You should sit down for a minute, lovey.”

“I  _did_ ,” she says. “All of us sat at the table for a while, and it was so boring. Daddy fell asleep, and Liam and Harry talked about their planes for like, an  _hour_.”

“So you’re back to the dance floor?”

“I am. Amir and Sunday are still at the table. They said they’re tired.”

“What do we say about people like that?” Zayn says.

She grins. “That they can’t hang?”

“That’s my girl.”

Mia drains the rest of the ginger ale and hands him his empty glass. “Hi Uncle Niall, hi Nick,” she says, then darts back off into the crowd.

Niall blearily raises his hand. “Can I hit you in the face if I use a glove? Not a boxing glove, like a white one.”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says. “The only reason I’m indulging this joke is ‘cos it’s not going to happen. You two get that, right? You’re not gonna have any reason to hit me. So fuckin’ relax.”

Nick studies him. “I believe you,” he says sincerely.

“Yeah?”

“But if you break your word,” he says, “none of this punching. We’ll do it like real gentlemen. Pistols at dawn.”

“Naw, I’m too Irish for that horseshit,” Niall scoffs. “Fuckin’ pompous British garbage. Use your fists like a man.”

“Now you’re gonna make me duel you to defend the honor of dueling, Horan,” Nick threatens.

Zayn claps Niall on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go dance with Mims,” he says, and vanishes into the crowd as they begin arguing good-naturedly about this.

 

*

 

Louis settles back onto the cool grass, stretching out to relieve the achiness in his back and pelvis. His hip lets out a satisfyingly grotesque crack.

“Ugh,” he mutters, digging in his jacket pocket for the lighter and lone cigarette he bummed off Zayn. “Just out here with my bones fuckin’ breaking, that's alright.”

He hears footsteps, and jerks in alarm, but it's only Harry. He's like some kind of gangly cryptid, standing there shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the fairy lights twinkling twenty feet away.

“Can I join you?” he says, sounding amused. “Or are you too busy talking to yourself?”

Louis flaps a hand at him. “I'm smoking, just so you know.”

“That's fine,” Harry says, settling in the grass next to him with his arms slung loosely around his knees.

They sit there in silence for a bit, listening to the reception continuing to go on behind them — raucous, drunken laughter, the clack of heels and dress shoes on the dance floor, the faint but entirely  _sui generis_  strains of Celtic swing coming from inside the tents. Louis is tipsy, and the stars above him are swirling. If he closes his eyes, the earth sways. He's always sort of liked that feeling.

“Beautiful wedding,” Harry says.

Louis blows out smoke and nods. “It was.”

“I thought you quit?”

“I did. I have. Only picked it back up for a bit ‘cos of the baby weight.”

“You look like you’re bouncing back just fine.”

Louis snorts. “Well, ‘s’been harder to lose this time around… almost makes me miss coke.”

“Same,” Harry says. “But for other reasons.”

“The fun reasons.”

“Exactly.”

“Smoking helps with the pain, too.”

“Back?”

“Yeah. Distracts me.” Louis’ hip starts aching again, and he shifts on the grass to find a new position to relieve it with.

Harry eyes him. “How bad is it? For real?”

“It’s not great,” he admits.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll live. Lie down, lad, the stars are gorgeous out here.”

Harry settles down next to him. “They are, aren't they?”

Louis shuts his eyes, forgetting about the cigarette in his hand until hot ash falls off and hits him in the palm.

“So, update me,” Harry says. “What's up with you? Besides the twins... I'm sure all anyone’s asked you about for months is babies.”

Louis laughs. “Months? Try a year.”

“What's up with your career?”

Louis swallows down the prickly feeling that lurches up in his throat. “Nothing,” he says. “No, that's not true, actually. Right before I got pregnant, I inked up a little management company for myself, under the umbrella of Modest. So I'm looking to actually start rounding up some clients toward the end of the year.”

“That's exciting,” Harry says, sounding genuine. “I know you've wanted to do that.”

“Yeah, yeah. And me and Liam have been working on a few things just the two of us, like collabing, so, that's fun. I dunno when we’ll find time to record them, but…”

“That's cool, though. I’d be interested to hear those.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. Besides that, nothing, really. Football stuff, charity stuff, taking care of the kids, and that’s it.”

“What about LT3?”

Louis chuckles so hard he starts coughing and wheezing. He puts the cigarette out and flicks the butt into the grass.

“For fuck’s sake, don't  _litter,”_ Harry says.

“Jesus Christ…” He sits up and crawls forward in the grass to fetch it, then slips it in his pocket. “That better?”

“Yes.”

“LT3’s not happening anytime soon, I don't think.”

“Why not?”

Louis glances over at Harry, who's looking up at him very seriously. “What's going on? You angling to be my new manager?”

Harry laughs. “No, just — we haven't talked about this stuff in a really long time, is all.”

“I don't think we’ve ever talked about my solo career. Back when you and me actually talked, I didn't think I’d ever need to have one.”

“But you did. Do.”

“Did.”

Harry studies him, his eyes drowsy from all the wine he’s drank. “I dunno if I told you this, but I liked your second album,” he says. “It wasn’t exactly my musical taste, but I loved how raw it was. I really respect that level of artistic honesty. It's hard to do.”

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says, genuinely touched.

Harry nods.

“You know I like your stuff as well.”

His eyes twinkle. “Just not quite your taste?”

“No, not quite. But I still like it, 'cos it's you.” Louis inhales, letting it out on a sigh. “I mean, in general, being solo... I just wanted to prove I could do it. And with the second one…” He struggles, then trails off.

Harry says nothing, doesn’t egg him on or anything, but something about his expression nudges Louis to continue. He just looks like he might understand where he’s coming from, which is unusual these days. Maybe it’s that Harry has just himself escaped a marriage that was rotten at its core.

“I was angry, when I made that record,” he says, finally. “And hurt.”

“Right,” Harry murmurs.

“And all that made it easier to crank stuff out. But… I’m not anymore. I’ve got Liam, and five kids between us. So I’m fine with stepping back, just being a dad, and being a manager, and ‘aving the band. I’ve always been more comfortable that way, besides. Just… whatever you’d call it. Nurturing people, I guess. Behind the scenes.”

Harry looks at him a bit longer, then nods slowly, but Louis has the sudden suspicion that any understanding that existed between them has slipped away. As if to confirm this, Harry says, “Wish I could say I knew what you meant.”

“I wish you could, too. And, I dunno, maybe another record’ll happen eventually. But right now… it just isn’t the time.”

“I didn’t mean to bring anything difficult up.”

Louis laughs softly. “You didn’t, don’t worry. What’s going on with your career?”

Harry shrugs. “I’ve been shooting this film… it should be out toward the end of next year.”

“That’s a while.”

“It’s dragging on a bit, this one. The director's nuts. He’ll be in edits for ages.”

“Got anything else in the can? Music?”

Harry makes one of his constipated perfectionist faces. “No, not so much. I’ve found it hard to write, lately.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m honestly sort of surprised you said your divorce made it easier… it’s made it harder for me.”

“Well,” he says, “it’s a different situation, I reckon. And y’know, I didn’t exactly start the record right away. Had a lot of crying and freaking out to do, first.”

Harry laughs. “Right. Yeah.”

“We don’t have to talk about this, either.”

“We could talk about the band…”

“Wasn't that what the band meeting was for?”

“Louis,” Harry says petulantly. “I really am trying here, alright? I don’t want the Zayn thing to make it awkward between us… we were doing good for a while.”

“No, no, I know, I get it, I'm sorry. I'm just cranky and sleep-deprived, is all.”

“I realize it's a bit forced.”

“Forced is too harsh. Maybe out of the blue is fairer.”

Harry hesitates, then says, “I’ve been wanting to apologize, actually. I think I was sort of bitchy at your Christmas party.”

“When we talked in the kitchen, you mean? I just assumed you were upset about Zayn.”

Harry nods. “Upset about a lot of things,” he says, sounding hoarse. “No reason to take it out on you, though.”

“That's alright.”

Harry suddenly looks deeply morose, and clears his throat.

Louis cocks his head at him. “What's wrong? You okay?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I'm fine, I'm fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… just been going through some shit…”

“Anything serious?”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

“You want a hug?”

Harry gives him a pitiable look and nods, opening his arms. Louis collapses into them, squeezing him. They roll over until they're in a semi-comfortable position and lie there in a loose, lazy embrace. He's painfully aware this is only possible because they've been drinking. It's been so long since they really touched each other — it feels good to, like they're purging some kind of poison through their skin. A breeze blows by, cutting through the summer air.

Louis hears footsteps in the grass. They both turn their heads and see Zayn, smiling at them. He stops a foot away and drops into a squat. “So… what's goin’ on here?”

“Why, you jealous?” Louis shoots back.

Zayn laughs. “Only if I can't join in.”

“Gross,” Harry says in a huff of alcohol-scented breath. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

With Zayn as a mutual target, the tension between them is broken. It’s a much more effective bonding technique than chit-chat could ever be.

“I dunno.” Louis tilts his head. “Is it that arsehole we used to work with?”

Harry grins. “Might be. The one who just didn't show up to work one day?”

“Yeah, that tosser.”

“Bit of a weirdo, liked dressing up as a girl?”

Louis cackles, and Zayn rubs at his beard. He’s obviously fighting a smile. “You two quite finished with me?” he says.

“No, never,” Louis tells him.

Liam appears, pushing his way between the organza walls of the closest tent and sauntering out like he's in a cologne commercial. “Oh,  _that's_  where you got off to,” he says, coming over.

Zayn extends a hand to Harry, who takes it and allows himself to be leveraged up. Liam does the same for Louis, then wraps an arm around him.

“Sorry,” Louis says, patting Liam on the back. “Didn't realize we’d left you two alone at the table.”

“Nah, Lou was still there,” Zayn says. “But when she left, we decided to go looking for you.”

They start heading back to the tents.

“Really?” says Louis. “Couldn't make a minute of polite conversation with each other?”

“Hey, the looking was a joint effort!” Liam says. “Zayn said, I'll look over here, and I said, alright, I'll look over there.”

“Wow, sorry we missed that,” Harry jokes. “Sounds worthy of Dorothy Parker.”

Liam tousles Louis’ hair. “Hey, Tommo? You reek.”

“I only smoked one!”

“I can vouch,” Zayn says. “Only gave him the one.”

They duck back into the tent, separating off into two twosomes and pausing at the perimeter of the dance floor. Niall is up on the dais, sharing a mic with Hozier — they all stop to watch him fondly.

Louis glances over at Zayn, for no reason in particular. He looks really handsome in the soft light, and more than that, he looks genuinely happy. He's got a soft smile on his lips as he looks at Harry.

Louis wonders briefly how Zayn would have looked at their wedding, if they'd had a real one and not just eloped, or done that back garden shotgun thing they did. If they'd really wanted to, not just been obligated to. If they’d had a string quartet and crab puffs and all their friends there, and stood in front of a minister in tuxes, all that.

Would Zayn have wanted to marry him, if it weren’t for the obligation? Maybe, but Louis can never shake from his head that thing Yaser said to him at Christmas. “I told Zayn to marry you, when he got you in trouble,” or whatever his specific wording had been. “Because that’s what you do.” How obligated had Zayn felt? He proposed through the bathroom door while Louis was sobbing, he proposed because they were pregnant, again, and there seemed to be no way out of any of it, no way to tell up from down. Louis had chosen to keep their daughter, and he’d chosen to be with Zayn, and all the choices they made subsequently seemed preordained.

Zayn catches him looking, then, and cocks an eyebrow. Embarrassed, Louis digs the lighter out of his pocket and hands it back to him. “Oh, thanks, mate.”

“Yeah, thanks for bumming me,” Louis says.

Zayn nods, then gives him a friendly slap on the arse.

Harry glances sidelong at him. “Zayn?” he says mildly. “Don’t do that anymore.”

Zayn turns to him, nonplussed. “Sorry?”

“Don’t smack Louis’ arse anymore.”

Heat rushes to Louis’ face, and he affixes a guilty grimace.

Zayn still looks taken aback. “What’s the problem?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Harry says. “And so would Liam.”

Louis turns to Liam. “You never told me you had a problem with that!”

“Oh, come on, Tommo,” Liam says, laughing. “Granted, _problem_ is a bit strong, but —" He's interrupted by a tipsy-looking woman who nearly collides with him as she’s coming off the dance floor, and then trips on the edge of it. Liam grabs her as she's falling and keeps her upright.

"Alright?" he says. She laughs sheepishly and heads off, mumbling something about getting some water.

“I used to do it in the band,” Zayn says, still, for some reason, attempting to argue around this. He seems embarrassed, like he’s been caught at something. “On-stage, like, it doesn’t mean anything. ‘S’like… in football, they do that in football…”

This is not remotely convincing to anyone, even Louis. Harry tilts his head like an owl and gives him one of those raised-brow, flat-mouthed looks of his, the meaning of which is very plain.

“Alright,” Zayn acquiesces. “I’ll stop.”

“Thank you."

Louis catches Liam mouthing  _cheers_ at Harry.

“You could’ve said something to me,” he whispers to him.

Liam shrugs good-naturedly.

“Ah, Liam,” Louis says, in fond exasperation.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Liam grins and slaps his arse, then. Louis jumps, laughing.

Harry wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and leans in. His eyes are glittering with alcohol-inspired mischief. “Hey,” he says. “Wanna dance?”

Zayn laughs. “Do I have to?”

“I'll lead, obviously.”

“Okay, drunky. You're gonna step on my feet.”

“I will not,” Harry exclaims. “I'm very graceful.”

Zayn pushes his sleeve up and taps his watch. “Ten minutes.”

“I'll take it,” Harry says, and escorts him away. They take up on the center of the floor, luminous and catching admiring looks from everyone around them. They're just that kind of couple.

Louis elbows Liam. “You wanna dance?”

“God,” Liam groans. “Not really… You?”

“Oh, fuck no, just wanted to make sure you didn't.”

Liam kisses him on the cheek and leads him over to the nearest table, collapsing into a chair and spreading his arms. Louis laughs and settles onto his lap, burying his face in Liam’s neck where he smells of crisp, expensive aftershave. “We can dance at our own wedding,” he murmurs, kissing his collarbone. “Hey, who's got the kids?”

“Lottie. She's teaching all of them the Electric Slide, now.”

He laughs. “That's cute.”

“Yeah… I think the videographer’s getting it.”

“Perfect, ‘cos I ain't getting up.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Hey…” Louis kisses him on the neck again. “I’m glad I'm gonna marry you.”

Liam runs his hand up and down Louis’ arm. “We've got that in common.”

“I think weddings make me moony.”

“Me too.” Liam presses his nose to Louis’ hair. “I miss the twins, though.”

Louis gets an anxious, unsettled twinge in his gut just thinking about them, and how far they are from him. “Aye, me too.”

“This morning I was like, what a relief, no babies for a day! Now it's like, shit, where are my babies?”

“It’s nice to have a bit of time to be human, though. Be out amongst the other grown-ups.”

“Oh, yeah,” Liam agrees. “I've missed, like, actually combing my hair and putting on a belt, absolutely.”

Louis lifts his head and gives Liam a sloppy kiss on the mouth. Liam sucks at his bottom lip, making blood rush to the surface. Louis’ spine gets tingly, and he leans in, shifting his arse against Liam’s dick.

Liam lets out a soft growl and draws back slightly. “Is tonight the night, then?” he says, gazing at Louis. “Are we back on the sex train?”

“C’mon, we’ve been ‘aving sex,” Louis murmurs, wrapping his arms around his neck and stroking the back of his head, ruffling his hair.

“You know what kind of sex I mean, love.”

“Then yeah... I wanna ride you tonight...”

“Re-ally…”

Louis leans in and sticks his tongue into Liam’s ear. Liam twists under him, laughing. “Really.”

“Good to know,” Liam says in a low voice, pinching his arse.

He grins. “For right now, though, you mind if I keep napping on you?”

Liam nods, wrapping his arms back around him. Louis lies back down against his chest, closing his heavy eyelids. The world around him melts into a swirl of soft lights, music, faint shouts and laughter. All that stays real is the warmth of Liam’s solid chest under him, and his thumping heartbeat.


End file.
